And how to fill them is the problem of cigarettes and paint. First time I felt my undoing was in front of a painting—Sam Francis, I believe. Oh, his bloomed out, Xanax-ed California. I liked the word guard, but you know we made each
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Moved the jackrabbit
from the road, laid her under
a bush. Land of little
shade, we do what we can.
One sport is crying while driving.
Another the daffodil light.
All the mornings I’ve found you,
I’m just eating a sandwich with Sarah,
when the wind picks up, and her hair
crucial, planet. Night running off
with itself. Away
from your star. So soft
is the fur
of the currently—