a high-fire mind punted wide brown-belly drunk
into hospitals, Brass Rail blackout fun: no
loss, no cork to stopper his munificent
dreams', spry splayed forms on pages, pockets
of this bard sang oily night, perchance to coddle
his loved, cracked and shuttered their bones
repleted permanence and imperfect in
poesy, roared & whined and bulled the tough-years,
even "when it is no use, none," his chin grinned
the peppery antipodes--farce and death,
in whose mouth he fed elegies
and grievances by the passing, many friends:
Delmore, Jarrell, Bhain, Roethke, Thomas--
colluding God & demons to throes and harping
lamented, "Repent!" at his feet shadows played
dancing his blue mind kicked sullen, tired.
chase to burning. chase, live. to die. grieve no more.





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[link]
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BT.
"The truth knocks on the door and you say, "Go away, I'm looking for the truth," and so it goes away."
Robert M. Pirsig
Zen and the Art of Motorcycle maintanance
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Street photography is NOT a photograph of an empty street, traffic lights or graffiti. If you want to find out what street photography is really about check out the The Yard Collective [link]
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The Yard Collective [link] Check it out!
"I dont want to achieve immortality through my work. I want to achieve it by not dying."
- Woody Allen
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Greetings from Germany
just stopping in to say hi
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