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what I thought was wrong with me with you was not wrong now gates in the dark at thy name hinge Under the gold Under the gold and chalk and brick, beside the rowers on the river, the black lines lived around my crayon bones. One line. And then my heart shut down, even so, inside the lines. I rode out of the sorrowfence blue twine-tied gate into the river grass . . . The Windows Funeral dream “We’ll put them all down in the great book of sleep.” “You may be dead but Don’t stop loving me.” In memory “Don’t hold yourself cheap.” new poems 11 ...

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