This is the landI raked free ofgrasses in the backof my mindand buried a fewspeeches and datesand poems thatnow are loston the weeds andthe bugs and thedays that re-arrangeall that was here.America, have Iforgotten that youwere written in coldblood, lost as a mitten?The thoughts are nolonger frozen but thawthrough the 4th anddecompose like bodies.I forget all I learned,what made it so good,nothing in the back of mymind but the implant.
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