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Gerard Malanga 111 Father’s Days Gerard Malanga (2004) Yeah, nevermind with the whole weight of history behind you. Allen Street Orchard Street the El overhead. Nevermind the snapshots you with me on your knee in Poe Park. The graininess of spring into summer. A vacant lot in the dusty afternoon light. Clotheslines crisscrossing the alley. Nevermind the dashed dreams. Your mind in a trance notating numbers that never add up. The scores of little red notebooks piled up and forgotten. Nevermind the day you vanished without a trace. Nevermind how things turned out. Tutto questo tempo. We ride the subways forever, counting the stations lugging bundles of drygoods staring into the faces. Nevermind the clothes you sewed by hand, the new suit for Easter. Time rapidly passes. Uno due tre cente nove The tracks that ascend and lead nowhere. Nevermind how things turned out. Nevermind the daemons. The daemons consumed you, the darkness surrounds you. Nevermind I didn’t take my pill this morning. Nevermind some people have all the luck. ...

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