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Stephen Kirbach

2 Poems

shade


that horseplay that        fooling

around I grab        stranger

Cain grapple flaunt      that

weed clamp that beef       pack

meat food        peculiar       heap

practice            way most         either

those         who gobble        divvy

it       prefer to leave the job

to another inkle                        fry it Abel

lest upside                    yo head

scramble       banish       choke

hold fallow     get        busted

Sodden and lean

pretender on the edge

             of a phony

             planet,

but never

             so much as when at

             the ocean, I watch

it rise

             up out of the west,

             emerging

from the depth

             of an indent

             horizon, surf

pressing the grey

             sand, the dark face

             of a furious

wind strumming the tight

             wired dawn, and

             breathe,

thereby, an

             ether

             narcotic precipitate.

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