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The sky streams hollowness, no city cover of light. I follow, where they go, someone’s house, I go, dim, incognito: tacked to the way things are. Everything streams: dumbstruck, stopped stock-still: you too: Jaybo! Our quiet trustful sides pro tec ted anyhow down the whole 200 miles. A Child’s Death I remember the dark spaces, black sand islands rising on the x-rays: what I couldn’t touch. Not like this world, our old solid, where we multiply; not this blurred body merely her history. Revolution Here is a man. Behind him dark, in front of him dark. The fuse the world lit ordinary things 109 races up his spine. Blows up his son who holds by him, his love of women, his learning his wanting late now to be touched to touch. An ordinary man. Thou red black white slight scattered thing o women’s animal-song o slant blown up drift arch dead white song white powder women rocking rocking nowhere to lay your head fox bird woman and man o come and out of nothing whiteness they come, tearing their shirts off, alone, together, touching, not touching, friends, who are the living who were the dead? Three Voices One Night in the Community Kitchen a man: “Jeb was hitting her in the face, I sat there, not doing anything. Her face was open, as if he wasn’t hurting her. He didn’t look angry. He sat back and they were smiling at each other. He knew her better than I did. I wanted to kill Jeb, I didn’t even get up. I haven’t even said what really happened.” a woman: “I was sitting in the back seat. Another woman we both knew, but an old friend of his, was sitting in the front seat beside him. He was shouting at her. She wanted me to help her, to get out, but then it changed. She was alone in the car with him. He was driving. She tried to touch his shoulder, he shrugged her off, he was looking straight ahead, singing, talking to the drivers of the other cars.” 110 door in the mountain ...

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