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Shelly Taylor / Land Enough to Get a Hold Lost iIn
from Land Wide to Get a Hold Lost In
What’s the damnedest thing you will do when your number is called, scratch ticket, bartender, please. Grita is on hour thirteen of consecutive Saturday afternoon sleep: jazz hands. But your show (job) has been canceled, make sweet tea make peace with the neighborhood which could fuck you up & your face gets hardened by the walk home. For two hours I have been thinking on food—zuppa toscana, chicken burrito, eggplant parmigiana hero. Don’t be scared to drive your car, run to the river. In olden days roses bloomed off building sides, terraces, & in winters the river would freeze fish straight through & people’d ice skate between the two great cities. I let the wind take the ivy today, strewn out from their pots on the ledge in evening sun that ain’t holy. After yelling horribly they kiss. After kissing they don’t turn, he packs his things, she will never make a family. She might have used to, she’s now a horse.