the white whistle
spelled past me --
a bone of continent --
a bore of contentment --
and examined the room.
the sound was
(where?)
this part of tomorrow
remembering how you lost a suit
Chicago
that which cleaves apart
and that which cleaves together.
that party that you
now don't remember.
your friend's brother's friend's
place. with some saucy blonde.
bet they don't have to worry
about rude Koreans without carpets
living above them.
the white whistle. but this wasn't
a race thing. just a phrase that came
to me in the park. the white wistful-
ness plague. the white-whale-pursuit-
problem.
"gotta find that girl and make her
mine," goes that refrain in the
eye of man. graduation speeches,
basketball games. bedtime.
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