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37 Over mud, I walk the plank toward God who got up again recently, and I rose early to meet him. Check out this dream: There was Jesus, only he was just that long-haired kid who lives down the street and is always smoking cigarettes beside my porch and it was me who woke him up who bailed him out, because his alarm had been going off for hours. I was pretty nice. I said, “Hey, Dude. Get up, it’s Easter.” The daffodils survived the freeze. The Mexican kids were in the alley crushing pink eggs with a soccer ball and a bike. They were crazy with palm fronds. I was kind of still asleep, and you know, talking like my people who come from the country. I said my favorite place is a road in Virginia at a certain speed so when I swerve over the rise at Chancellorsville I don’t lose it on the battlefields. All I see are placards and shrubs. And if I make it, I start to sing whatever’s on the radio. And when the road bends like the general’s arm and shoots me straight through the valley’s heart, there’s a kid humming “Loving Nancy” in the ditch and the stuff on my face is as much blood as it is dust. And suddenly, it’s the warm glowing night LET’S COLLABORATE 38 I thought we could all ride into together one day. The sky’s vacant like an airbrushed painting, like a Super-Sargasso Sea, where what’s lost has the responsibility to pop back up again. Given the apartment theory of dimensions we could say, “Fuck it,” or we could gather the proof necessary to believe in everything no one can see. ...

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