Monday, January 20, 2014

Dry Dog Comments

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watch me who leers at thee who pouches prey
with my tongue twixt the teeth that chew your feeble ropes
like a sandy feather, dry, as the arid bones a-bleached of my father the wolf and his father the Tertiary hunter of the snowy hide and den in tendrils.
the drenched and torpid harriers have made angels of your spotted phantoms
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Luke J. Holt
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Luke J. Holt

Luke J. Holt

fullerton CA
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