26 Jan 2015, 1:22pm
Writing
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Reading surrealist fiction by a dim lamp

Parabola sheepdog shepherd bowtie
At seven thirty I have to take a walk
In the cold air, and dark
Not thinking of deer lately I see three
Or one
Then two
The thoughts I have lately are so supreme
I’m in bed with you one minute
and then I’m beside myself looking
down on a ruined castle
That was my life
I can think of it
To be on the Scottish heath like an aged king
By a dead fire

Looking for a rock house that was
there for me one or two nights ago
We went looking for it
Remember the one the wind didn’t blow away
The family so pulling underneath
So together in the 1970s everyone
piling out of the wood-paneled station wagon
Summer vacation then winter
Still I’m a private man
I read Schopenhauer do you know what he says
Nevermind
I have a warm jacket like this
Others prepare for Snowmageddon tonight
While I check my tires at the QT
They seem ok, for now

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