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If only I could get down it alone —But you are getting down it alone . . . Thirsty! I drink from my own well the red and blue fire around my head this minute vanishing I befriended with it Two Poems for Matthew Shepard But what about the blue dory—the soul —Thief the sun Thief the rain Into love the size of a silver dollar [the soul] disappeared to a pencil point then nothing. Left his nails and his hair. The Blue Dory, the Soul —I left the blue dory there had been so much news 22 door in the mountain so many flashbulbs breaking up the dory so many people following their names eating their third heavy car their third book I left the blue dory on its hip on the fence left my soul not “mine” “my” clothes off I left the edges of “my” face “my” hands The Rally The rally is about a young black man His tongue has been cut by a razor the tops of his ears have been cut off My clothes my bag my money my papers It’s the young man My palms my soles It’s the young man your silent invisible body here at the door your glance new poems 23 ...

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