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Love Letter Hours from trees, you love my leftovers. Beware, he will cleave like a leak. He will stay hard only as long as you cry. He will take himself from buttons. He will bother you for bass. He wants to show you the aisles he has beaten with sighs. He wants to tell you, I never meant to. In drought, the grass cackles like crows. Much of what you mistake for wild carrot is hemlock, that same wedded head.The ruts are full of fawning.The earth is clay and cracks.There is a want from which you cannot right yourself, a kind of mouth which unmakes you, robs your no; the way, in the heat, you lie to yourself, say you are fine, forget the wave until it finds you, wrecks you, wastes you, woman on the sidewalk: you are blood-slack, heaving. He will leave you flat. -64- ...

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