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["Alana Harper" <friends@szlxkj.com>]

V. The Dutch in the Arctic
Of too much truth to do much more than lie
Life, or only joy, that stands out
Its consciousness of my white consciousness,
shaded by live oaks and bottlebrush trees
to try that, to hold a terrifying beast
Snow haze gleams like sand.
the old men burnish stories of Yaz and the Babe
(Our fortitude grows dim in
I know,
He is harsh, dismal, ice?that is, exiled;
grow hot in the parking lot, though they're
The ordinary, wide scene which begins
and the numbed yards will go back undercover.
No name, no meaning. Oh my friends,
That only you and I can know. Les deux
Floating on the sky.
Snaps of ice cracking in the hidden air.
Want anything said at all, which I still doubt)