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Brise marine.

 after Stephane Mallarrne Crashing my Dutch clipper into French
Guyana I hold the microphone like Jim Jones before the coronation full
cryptomnesia style tramping about my fantasy library I thought the
quatrains were mine, not unsatisfied tides limping back I give what it
takes colossal retreats in remote antiquity or any place where the
vaults are cumulus & brighter than Venus who's insidious red is
this anyway? The blood I asked for was to snare ghost a foreign
intelligence now I'm rendering transparencies & crushing
 to unknown dust "look to last forever or do what you want"
the orientation varies to better the presence not encode the encounter
see these gardens layering their alien tatters or this vulture chased
with gold tubing, never mind the curse holds to every line its emeralds
pinned against my antique air now everyone finds a way to be vague &
indistinct scratch that, "profoundly variegated," how bitchy
"all these books read in abject zenith" too much cathedral in
the rented shadow box I climb the royal mast & watch the orchids
fall back to form a hand the aways are always pure black light never
blue oh heart, just be still listen to the chants of the sailor song! 
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Publication:Chicago Review
Article Type:Poem
Date:Jun 22, 2014
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