Wednesday, September 11, 2013

SQUEAKY

This is not to say 
that I'm 

complaining—about 
such 
ardent odd 
September heat.

This—is just 
me sort
of saying—

that all I want
to do
is sit—close
by a wheezy 
brown dog in a rusty

swing on a 
porch that's 
been painted up—haint 
blue 
or 
better—yet 

maybe painted mint-

green chocolate-
chip ice cream—

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