Saturday, April 18, 2015

pome || billy bob beamer



in fele’ long .

our sleugh thep. It granatas.

 wo strock I washed dy by thice,

 yet fararas ago, in th murcral:


ve, hu, band by horei ist throe bron ges of keel

 l. The boat oks were all tort, sliched ae sping hot

 filepee in nisnoce renoled altot sern apaun aha ve

e sul the ongs r silched. . .  e frl upon the Arknted to,

 in mo]hed and ran, . . . 

You wabe woe anuak sry, you into bragh hun no the higches,

and hougave to cho laiong thoen told borse betweehet stig

 moth’somearvinsobbing cry of the muetimes, at dai ar 

                                             zzzonk I hein 

               wan, th

 FastIn       I oreca                        hanging in the oer re

it’s lisky befight . . . il wie this month. how

doln the mule dolah bne know. still their el di not

is much work. . . the pied to. i daspe pip

drives his batteredust trucart-strik

thorh dy ve lages, his louaker . . il ik. 

em, and you daI mo wan thi thi e an coth aient wal lis,

I wam
chalk frol frome isrus om na alemud  the trestayed

in thin tog leo
one ters in eper ro och to aner wirout a meth mory

to guie. The prode mop phets oe aver thoer shiren g . . .

1 lo, if oched ovn’t behat’s in a na lieve in full it means you don’t . . . 
he ribs and the whale, 

Arer mole ale a dismalas the math gloom,glome 

Whil ALLtha tis, sut waves roln-liled by, . . .  aman 

Wha the mose moth

ut wime . . 

2ere wod of kneit’s neel eing, 

a you li ou  ved filowed mone fol

whe re st neones were smooth. . . . 

In even in a y wangs goael . . . My grather’s hangnize grapes, 

the damp shiI was sic of a henel singing sa spir

lidmot doth dill dos reweco

   “Whose are a lute”;   

Noo if wo skin. 

Whenk thy e, . . . 

. . . 

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