To P.S.

The land goes up in flames

Before it fades to black

And so does this heart ablaze

Then bloodied, buried by desire;

The fact’s light is blind

To silhouettes of love, of lust,

Of knowing, and like a blind man

It keeps returning to the place

It drowned last

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She knelt in front of him

To kiss his forehead and to cry

For love has whispered in her heart

“Awake, awake” – for mere mortals die

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Isaak liked two things in life: spaghetti westerns and jazz …

Isaak liked two things in life: spaghetti westerns and jazz. not to say that the full-lipped Italian mavens coexisted on the same plane with the swinging swagger of the big band sound, or that the minimalist art machine fueling the insanity behind the scenes added up to a coherent snapshot of his inner world; and yet this gun-slinging, the indefinite harboring of hate for the sole purpose of exacting revenge, the incessant bass-riddled soloing of the Haitian fight song had an unmistakably binding feel of his personality, some would contend, his alone ..

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how does one politely explain to a young girl wearing essentially nothing, in red, that she’s wasting her considerable talent by indiscriminately seeding desire in an army of male (female?) strangers. on an unrelated note: the sweet Sandia casino used to advertise just north of Albuquerque with the lovely ‘our slots put out’; in the Bay Area as one approaches the city from the north east down 80 the sole banner advertising to the commuting masses is that of a well-breasted female cut-off at the head, showcasing the successes of the well-to-do local plastic surgeons; on yet another unrelated note, an hourly wage required to rent in the city is $80. peace.

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