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PURCHASE THE DIGITAL COLLECTION (2013)
B. 8.11.1897 Livermore, Maine / D. 2.4.1970 New York City
Dark at five, again.
Her favorite time of year for deep woods camping, no mosquitoes.
North America, this ice-scarred eminence clinging to its coat of hardwood, prairie, pine, a threadbare hide broken by mange blossoms of asphalt and sand.
Breath-steaming silver-blue dawn; smash the frozen meniscus and put a pot of coffee on the dayís first fire.
Cities protrude like spear heads from wounds; "Donít Go" zones accumulate under bombardments of misinformation.
Hike all day after views and wildlife glimpses and sun-warmed glacial outcroppings.
Back when I rode the Boston Red Line, I loved a serial graffito sprayed on the concrete safety wall beside the tracks. All the way from somewhere in Quincy to somewhere else in Quincy, it read like a backwoods version of a Times Square LED
Our souls could touch.
just a single word repeated:
Alert Alert Alert Alert Alert Alert Alert
Consolation Site: Classics Log
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