Blackbirdan online journal of literature and the artsSpring 2011 v10n1
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The world is my

oyster it is my every fucking thing. It’s true: no one put me up to this. I lost my own faith myself. You convert, you faulty ruin, you ripped schism, you foe.

No loss. No skin off my back. Plangent kings once said wool with cables, a dozen, they’re easy, you could learn them in an afternoon. I did. I strummed my stung and swollen fingers upon your strings. I fled burning cities. I flew unseen coops.

I flashed cops and mooned sailors and how did you repay me: you said marry me you said Massachusetts or Connecticut you said California you said fucking Iowa! and I listened, and I packed my garter and I saw angels and I heard you say it: yes yes yes. We did.  end

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