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Imperial Library
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Index
Cover
Half Title Page
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Contents
i. blossomhouse
Jump rope song
As a child I ate and mourned
It seems, back then, there was a mythic teapot
The potato sack filled with toys was beautiful
People, the ghosts down in North-of-the-South aren’t see-through
An occasion is a rare occasion
Hub
Spirea’s covered in those clotted blooms
Maybe the fishmonger, who hands over the dead
White violet, not so much an image
ii. blowtorch the hinges
I once fought the idea of the body as artifact,
Long, long ago I used to smoke in bed
I can’t stop thinking of that New York skirt, turquoise sequins glued onto sea-colored cotton
It wasn’t a dream, I knew William Burroughs
Warhol’s Shadows
I went downtown and went down
My pants are disintegrating. Yes,
Do you remember that spring? The breeze smelled like cake mix
Either everything is sexual, or nothing is. Take this flock of poppies,
iii. lush
I can’t listen to music, especially “Lush Life,”
iv. free beer
Free beer
I emptied my little wishing well of its emptiness
We fear the undulant,
I snapped it over my knee like kindling
It wasn’t love, but love’s template
Laundromat hit by tornado
Jesus, with his cup
Toad
v. a period’s period
Oh, I’m a stone
It’s like this
A poet came to town
I’m full of sadness
I’m moved by her, that big-nippled girl
Beauty is over
Is there still a Betty in this new life?
Oh four-legged girl, it’s either you or the ossuary
Acknowledgments
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