I looked over and saw R.’s profile superimposed on the moving backdrop of a boreal forest, somewhere around the state line of Indiana. I remember thinking the evergreen innocence of youth had been yanked away from him, and now his deciduous flesh would not survive the season. Yet, the light in his eye, the ever-present curl in the corner of his mouth, and the rakish tilt of his head all defied the drum of hooves galloping toward him from the darkness of the western lands, where the dead have their own dominion.
And he rode a pale cedar, its prickly spines scratching at his scrotum and inner thigh.
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lulz
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How does the Catholic Church stay in business? Who would want to be a Catholic? I don’t get it. Duke
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A folosium – pain on one hand and mercy on the other and of course I make up words.
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Speaking of words, this post was horrifyingly wordy. I got the razor out and did some damage control.
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Cutting is great. Like I used to say, poetry is the art of subtraction, not addition. Thanks. Duke
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Sometimes I get the amphetamine dosage wrong.
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