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Michael Robins

Cargo at the Curb



Rest & receive it—


Or wake unhappily

in nylons & calves

daily, no mileage

nor love


               Or maybe

love, cautiously love

a wife’s worthy name


She’s the riot sure

as shit, the meadow


you’d cut thoroughly

& through



a smile in otherwise  




Innumerable Gibbons



Neither a black fly nor


that party you dreamt




pervasive strangeness

becoming & wonder



Not the knuckles, not

a weed by its root

pulled up—



neither sleeplessness

when love scars a chin


Visitor, your name here

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