Walks in the Dark

I miss falling in love with the poets the vases the primroses
An air of their lost ampersands hooks and walks in the dark
I am no longer able to walk in the dark or to take it, to stride
with a flashlight or cane; the dog limping along with the
state. To stride right out there as if a city street could breathe
bats into me– i.e. the lesser north american usage: “falling
in love again,” the interim between fascists and impeccable
English grammar, scattering seeds for the plaintif woes.

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