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Unlatch me, catch and return me
scales, underbitten and in the flesh
A real guest of honor.
Crumpled shirts creased,
A Western hanging for
Black hats. Barn door closets
Open and craving smart suits.
Drawers devoid of life,
Almost empty except
Gideon’s guide book —
The Special Edition
With tourist maps all

Pointing north at heaven.

City of the mourning,
New Orleans. Crowning delta
Below the Mississippi
Yawning maw of God’s gulf,
Inhumane with heat and Sunday
Revival tents wailing
Bodies flailing fall
Into hands holding healing swords.
Flashing off for good now
Our red light died a slow
Death of the reception’s
Nightly cries passing.
I lift the receiver to hang
So lifelessly in my hand

In place of a revolver.

I paid for a view not a single window
Dirty false balconies
Overlooking rooftops and
A city-brown river.
Lime junkets float down under
The bridge of my nose.
Hangover sweat on sweet
Silk sheets of honey, carts
Of cigars and molten cherries
Jubilee. Bananas
Charles Foster Kane,
I believed in his full name. He

Came from nothing, too.

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