ventured
that very conclusively overhung admiration of big horses accidents
get
up to fresh suspicion
always
clinging to one’s sheet
subpar
partnered translation
sleeping
sideways
with
the back to the door
only
a brief moment of interest
picking
the seams of a saddle bag
eating
at the deli— haven’s
stick
excursions
of infinite naught
driving
up a huddle fill
fear
grasses busily in the will
with
no one to blame
red
cavalries little wars
trooping
trooping no more
paying
at the window
Now—no—never
at the door,
passing
on the floor.
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