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hindsight At one time, we followedhindsight by `youthculture
the fires of July like fools in love
with heat smothered on our raw anatomy--
but fall has wrought out kindling into cinders,
carried it away on the earth's currents and sighs.
Here we see the girls with pressed skirts
and polished Mary Janes catch the oak's abandoned children,
pale-downed arms reaching for the bleached clouds
of late September
and when the boys with all their chivalry abandoned
come searching for pig tails and rounded thighs,
we watch the snow eat an old world.
From our separate park benches,
cigarettes lay crumpled on the ground;
dead soldiers from our last war.
But when I open my eye


genealogy The box is so old it breaks apart at the cornersgenealogy by `youthculture
when I lift it, spilling out faces
on the cold basement floor;
this, they tell me, is not where you are.
I find my father staring at me, back when he wore
a stern beard and a blue uniform,
both smelling equally of diesel.
His thick arms are cradling our first cat
with the delicacy of a new parent with their first born.
Here is the man who kept a gun
and wouldn't tell his wife where,
who tore apart a family
while a young girl played in their yard;
someday, she will forgive him
over the casket of his mother's body
when they begin to walk away in silence.
It was first time I saw him cry,
the f


cigarette it has beencigarette by `youthculture
twenty minutes since the thought
of you surfaced my mind,
a half-hour since i spoke your name,
uncounted days since i last touched you
and every tick of the second hand
bears the weight further on my chest.
there is a man standing with me in the rain, smoking
the crooked end of his cigarette.
he has been here all night,
the cherried end marking his silent vigil,
until nearly midnight passes and his side shadows with company.
he takes her in his arms like she is a thing brand new,
and kisses her until the rain has stopped and the bouncer makes last call;
his cigarette has gone cold in a curbside puddle, forgotten
wit
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