Lines Touching

Something about my grandfather,
the poet on automatic talk
and the fifty year old DD guy
chimed as perfectly alike

No language for this
ardent solitude
performed for no one
it was clear to me

each one of these resided
in his cavern
or mid-light
where Arizona see-saws

between smooth and scalding
I take a walk alone instead
of with and watch the old streets
become older as I think of everything


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