and send it back where the sun don’t shine;
give me rain; give me a long hauling of the
winter’s ashes; give me grace; give me punk,
the hard way; give me a going over,
and spit me back along the river, where
we pulled nothing from something;
this cursed heat had me blinded then, too,
and full with the last faith I could find;
you looked at our makings with
eyes wet with heedless love.
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