Why Wolves Are Like Playing Cards

[jeff harrison]

oust out from double-crossed knock
who was to what awaits naked security
as no part for sufferance, Walt Whitman,
is to an old hand at boyhood rose's swindle

no threat, no matter to rain in custody
our gifts fall cold in places other than the pale -
upstairs, railroad ties snooze hand in hand
these memorials wanted enough earth to themselves



		
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