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Came I was way out as it flies

but an easy green and skies

isn’t it? My cul-de-end is a nice, though

it’s like the knot I keep my knickers in 

to hey there stay here. Damn right

I’d rather not not squat some pissy asphalt

plot not. Rather put-em-up where I got

to picket in self-defense? Not no but if so

then where’d I roost my hoodie

among cooing polyphony? A no-go a no-no unless

I’m turned around. Awful’s everywhere I was—

I couldn’t see me there—only pinions. 

I’ve eyefuls of my absence everywhere

I’m here I go. Hey there I caw now

and mow and mow and mow. 

Black Flight 

Douglas Kearney

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