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Gummed reinforcements.

Insane, trapped together in a ... How would you like one? Growing up is what it is, leaning into the wind, without a cent. We had the most beautiful childhood and lunch--that's even better. I only paid $4.75 for mine. An embarrassment, considering it would be an embarrassment for me too. Then he frolicked and said, whatever happens happens in a dream, eleven, twelve, fifteen times a day. Sometimes when you are away it happens at night, all night. Children we had lost once know how to keep repeating the piece they learned, knew the way back to us, us, as grave robbers, of an old candy store with a cake as centerpiece: a wild, fragile one. Therefore read this: a sun, mild as any, with diamond-tipped consequences somewhere. An atmosphere of brooding, perhaps ... Yes! And the cake was square! How did you guess? And all along, a stork was creeping up the stair to its bower, injured by the furniture and last-minute preparations. Nobody came to sign its register. There was no one in the large drum a canker folded over, looking at you real mean-like. And I and the dream are still only acquaintances after all this time, a century, it seems from Arkansas. Did the goats get milked in time for your hand to graze it? Was the squall over then? Those who paint the heavenly porch put a damper on all our ideas, extreme creations like love. You heard me, ladies-- past and pure truth, swaying, light out over the land. The crowd of robbers doesn't go away. It would rather be sunset, if that were inexorable enough. But it's not. Count the pigeons, the people, townspeople, running fast in all directions. Sign here for the coat of burrs, please.
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Author:Ashbery, John
Publication:The American Poetry Review
Date:Jan 1, 1993
Next Article:Falls to the floor, comes to the door.

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