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March 22, 2012

Improbable Volta

In the shadowy evening, two fawns stepped lightly into a shallow pool of hogshit which had washed downriver.

Look at the white flower as it blooms up your ass.

Love, like the moon, was not made for lovers; they were meant to argue in the Rally’s parking lot under the slanted red sun.

His heart was the size of Texas, but his penis was the size of Idaho.

He missed her breakfasts of eggs and buttered bread, her shadow in the kitchen, the way she farted in her sleep.

Delicate snowflakes paint the brothel’s rooftop.

The sea’s history shows/sailors who stowed away a bible/were saved from shipwreck/but often died a few weeks later/from a venereal disease.

When she arrived from Vladivostok with two dollars in her coat, the moon was low and yellow but then she was bitten by a rat.

Corn requires sun./Dirt requires oxygen./He decides he will make the trip/from the basement/to the store./It will be his last bottle of Mt. Dew.

When the woman made of mud finally spoke to the two brothers, she said, “Is there a McDonalds around here?”

Before the dance, we put on our best ties and waistcoats but Ronald threw up in the buggy and died about a half-mile before we arrived at the barn.

 

 

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