at the bookstore
checking for new
bukowski and there'
s five that i don't have
and someone's
put a book called
'poetry for dummies'
smack dab in the middle of
them - 'ha' i think as
i pick up the roominghouse madrigals:
early selected poems, 1946-1966
and make my way to the cash
register while i try to
think of the fastest
way to stop the member
card saving spiel

i decide to go with
loud vulgarities

Moi, j'avais jamais rien dit. Rien

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