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35 R e d S h u t t l e w o r t h More . . . Your Gunslinger Shadow Grows Amber To observe (absorb?) the enduring dead . . . (Mysterious Dave Mather dead and wormy in an Oakland flophouse suggests the late work of a civilized West . . . and no mystery beyond a need-of-cleaning pistol mentioned in the crumbly will.) . . . you must allow yourself to be a lone figure {clouds like concrete pressing down} breaking your interior (ceiling?) calling. All that aged, rotted flophouse drywall falling in chunks from the heaven of others. Old pal Bat Masterson yet approaches his squarish New York City journalist form. Steak-clogged arteries. These are primary juxtapositions: Old West and walking pantomime. What a goddamned trick: levitation with the dead. To the Memory of Ed Dorn ...

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