Tuesday, January 24, 2012

bobbi lurie

When we go back to Paris our hearts will be filled with
      filled with (Paris)
I will smoke cigarettes like I did in Prague/ you will bring
a bottle of Calvados
from the cellar/ we shall
make
penetrating
mistakes,
(fake)
accents
not be haunted
as
Americans

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waiting for the enemy to appear (part II)

and indeed the corrupt armies tortured the citizens who barely belonged to the republic—the fascists, the ecstatic communities of elders who sent their young to war in order to level the chance of death—what it sought to surpass it became—lame soldiers of a new universe strangely the same as before

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