WORKS
After a quick Spring rain storm,
late afternoon, the sky slate-grey,
the factory lit up angelic
in a single hymnal shaft,
the smokestack spewing
coils of pure white…
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THE DEAD ARE THIEVES, TOO They’ll pick your pocket clean, like that Ozark you left by the river. How many times do I have to talk to you? ... -
CIVILIZATION AND ITS’ DISCONNECTS Turn off your computer. I know, I know. I will cease to exist. I will return to my cave of shadows, ha...
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