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Nathan Parker

Where a = b = z & logos pinch through plants like clean- freak beetles We the frightened on roof tops, the sub crumb, the fearsome planet Right now I guess you are going to snort lime Friday night, here, it is 3000, and I could smash myself from sorrow mustard plants have sloughed seeds into our satellites Lou & the cobra have no memory of India the lion wears a cotton apron & chops turnips with the lamb everywhere tambourine coins melt loudly by loudly into that weird good Maybe He who calls things that are not as though they were has not called yet but the old floodstuffs have risen, toasted the home-sweet hideousness of the land and they who have hooves hammer lamentations through my mefirst, they kneel so softly down to pray in shivering prairies of bug-free hay *** and the giants of the fishtank-lit bedtime stories of this map-false earth sleep so sleeplessly (break your heart's oil He will come), true. these creatures blind glass canyons with rum- clouds of breath but, whisper it: all night and all day their mighty freezing arms comb moon-lit craplands in search of a maker shit that they purr drunkenly as they ease their fists into Nebraska, into the many touchable noodles of hay there, because "It is finished." and their numb bottoms remain in Flagstaff but hallelujah that this happens under the stars of farms whose children inchoir through silver links rising like bubbles from the fields "fence. where is your sting?" 1. I tell you the truth, before Abraham was, I Am. 1. My name is Nathan, welcome to the Olive Garden, here are a few things that I can never remember not to live for, but did I mention I love you, I love you, I fear nothing but you you already know that:

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