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I watched the earth swallow my bones whole, and I felt lighter, less attached. my eyes were in the eaves Empiricism, he said, the hooves careen. Will-o-the-wisp, you turn the river around. fallen sun, creosote flare The word on everyones lips is tonight my love, by the clang of the shivaree, remember when you me. The uninsured everything between us briars in From the tinted window of a slow-moving car, your perfume traces. it comes, all ways, to this: Which meaning did you have in mind. estranger Of the viscous night air you breathe in, Im even jealous.

He remembers very little, less. Unshorn sheep on the hills, the hills themselves, verdant, respiring. The tremor of the curtain as she unclasped her heirloom. The thousand and one tiny muscles in the neck. Coming so slowly awake, kudzu clinging to the softened edge. The hills themselves tremulous, seething, the green leaking unclasped, the unshorn sheep on the hills coming so slowly awake, the tiny sound of the spill out, the muscled slope. He remembers very little, muslin curtains, pout of dirt.

seeing minnows meant the fever was extant again saliva pooling neath the fattened tongue

I swallowed the river to watch the fish flail, I failed you. O Inflection, word of the thousand and one tiny meanings. Of ungrasped pain in the neck. Pain of no money.

Money, money, and money are a few of my favorite things. Also rain without surcease, driving without surcease, drinking etc. Also when your breath starts to come in quick thimbles and the curtain sucks into the windows mouth, your body quakes to say itself, seeing minnows.

is this even a road, man? meant his eyes were the color of steam a train we heard nightly but never saw Its like we met at the mouth of a cave and tunneled in. Past the brown bat, the black bear, the silverfish light of our useless appendix shining. Now weve arrived where? The air is historical. Meretricious is it us or the earth that keeps going in deniable, irreversible circles. We must contend with the echo of everything we have ever uttered in the undressed dark of one another

You are marrying the wrong manifesto. Strawberries and cream grow on trees. And fall on me.

Abandoned themselves to the thick black pond. Waited for the thunderhead, and the after-salve.

(i can smell the candy bar on your breath thin green light of the radio dial reflecting off your eyeteeth we are driving all night through the remember when the words that almost left your ruby lips stirred the jewels in my yellow hair i will forever the ewoks in california)

The letter should have reached you by now Had I written it Had I arms legs habeas corpus a net of rain I couldnt make it up if I tried an underwater drive-in I have tried day without thought I still am

You stood in the bleachers and watched the zamboni erase all trace of us. Eye of slush, mind of slush, flat-headed diamondshovel. I will hold this against you until it melts. Queer angle of the winter sun, concussion concession smell. Arc of the puck, spanked hearts. Creased notes in jeans pocket. I bought it all, and now I know not who or why or where....

I took that sandwich and nailed it to a tree. I and nailed it to a tree. You were always blinking, missing my good moments, a car door slamming in the night. Poetry had a place in our lives, but it was in the doghouse, for which wed long ago lost the key, shot the dog.

Somewhere in this city you are I would say this to you Or if not this city then one exactly like it: Trade wallets with me To let the rabbi dab at this pain snowing Im your fianc If its

Then I went away and then I went away, in my place was a blur

What the full moon does to the wolf

You is always plural, he said, to no one. It is taking its toll.

Where did the details go wrong If only I could sleep in your coat whittle your soap into the image of your favorite guest lecturer The details snowed under. It is a detriment to my character, this fondness for looking up your skirt, down your shirt, between the lines of what no one ever says Bringing you flowers from substitute your own nouns grave

A russet apple, the furred earth, the blue shale

will you

If all the ewoks have been poached from your california, clear out of this world

It was a Linus day. Tree frogs on every toad stool.

your mouth against the screen door cheeks puffed out soft metallic taste of dust from the moths wing

I've no one left to sleep with for money, now what. I can probably live off this strained eroticism for a few more weeks. But what when the wind shifts, or she starts drawing her blinds at night.

for want of form the sky drifted apart speckled newts blooming from the rent mound

(sucking on frozen mittens tiny saucer shaped frostbite balancing on your cheek its almost time for abbott and costello meets frankenstein on the faded blue couch that fits nobody)

We broke up six hours ago, and Im still not over you. It's fixing to be a long what season is this? Belladonna?

Inspissate: to thicken by evaporation to strengthen by breaking up

The ice cube music has melted away, drowsy gnats playing to an empty room. Outside night greases the pristine lawns, seeps from the blacktop. Wed try to walk the yellow lines with our eyes closed. Rattling sumac Teenaged Hoping the cops dont

Carry me ohio

deeper into ohio

you always said that

For want of form the sky flooded over Low light Say nothing

I take it back When I broke your heart My heart or in a grey t-shirt thatch of dirt blonde wind smear I remember a white mustard field, eye shadow in the trees

For all I know your heart didnt break, the details appear to be pixels after all man, I havent heard this since high school

I done it against chronology, a break in the skin, the skin with the nerve to remember Low light) use whats already there (Say nothing

He was trying only to go deeper into ohio where they were surely waiting to carry him he was trying only to mend the insidious threads and failed and fell

I am trying to tell you what it's like over here, but I cannot do it. If you could see for yourself, but then it'd be different.

The thing is to ignore yourself all the way, as a circle. Since nothing is itself, we won.

I love what you've done with the spaces my life used to fill. My only regret is a beautiful and endless killing song.

John Duvernoy is the author of the chapbook Razor Love (Unlock the Clockcase), and the full-length Something In The Way (Obstruction Blues) forthcoming from Horse Less Press. Raised with his three brothers in the hills of Central New York, he now lives with his wife in Seattle, Washington.

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