Wednesday, May 14, 2014

o52

my breath on the glass
like a private fog
sent to dull the day

I murdered once
once long ago or
maybe it just feels that way

folk invoke a sort of rage
raucous as crows living
dying, lording over white crabs
on the beach

in Oslo along the tracks
in the rain, don't ask Haigman about the hot dogs
or the hot dog buns,
he might let you know -
Haigman knows a lot of what you're asking for

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