Re: Your ‘effin turn, poser

well if it aint the phone company

or my old boss or some

ancient karmic wreckage

twistin’ my tit up in a

wringer I guess it’s

gonna be you

I deserve it


but what can I say

when the inexorable

marriage of form and content

weeps the rain

the new rain and

the fecund swamp

of the mind

oozes pure poetry

life is poetry

even the lack of it?


Not meant to be an excuse, but alot has happened in the scant two weeks

since I returned from the Old World. #1, you didn’t know her, though I wish

you had, I called her my 3rd sister, she was my cousin Julie, Janine’s age,

lived in Toronto. She died the night I got back. Nobody knows why or how

yet. She was a rose in a life of thorns. An abused child, she was forced

to eat entire jars of peanut butter at a sitting, denied food as a toddler,

locked in closets and molested by her father. Even though she was scarred

by this hellish beginning and a frightfully fractured family, she was like a

moon in the darkness of her own night. She was always laughing and telling


I’ll write soon. William Wallace.

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