This poem, (or poetic snippet) didn’t make the cut… I’m putting the book together right now, and I worked a bit on this piece, but ultimately decided I’m dissatisfied with it. So I thought I’d share:
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untitled — 6.2.2
“we’re bitches, we’re machines” -Pablo
we’re grass and stereo static
growing weeds of electric-lichen
clinging to westerly sides of telephone poles
and meter boxes and public switches
we’re electric light, we’re fallen streetlights
dying on the ground-wire
our fingers are sticky, our fingers, lightning
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When I have time, I’ll probably post the whole book over with the oldpoems.