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Tim Gilmore |
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a key west doodle let's go let's move the highway across our hours and hours of land laying into the lay of the land its lovers moving pine and palm by us and through us with motelled suburbs sans cities ruins without histories sinking down swamp and marsh and map and let's talk let's think out loud without figuring it all out with no reserve and no preamble all pre- veri-/clari- fied alive in our sneaking synchronicities slinking toward key west toward the slinking toward sleepy fumbling fingers fingering hair necks nipples and mine between your skirted knees and yours so gentle upon my dying to be ridden down into the islands in fronded shades in contented lazy loving spotted with sudden frenzied fuckings off the bottom of the map |