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Monthly Archives: September 2015
Damn, but I Hate Poetry
Damn, but I Hate PoetryRaymond WeaverDamn, but I hate poetry-writin’……not readin’.It’s a disease, likecompulsive sex, or shop-liftin’, and if you can’tcount, and all your rhythmssound as if beat out by aone-legged tap dancer, andafter a thousand stubsof pencil and a … Continue reading
Beach Scene
Beach Sceneby Raymond Weaver…then naked-leged boys limbs and torsoes teasing twilight leapinto ripeningclimbing foam bodies flamencoingagainst breakers like hot-assed horny watergypsies churningspray spewing spray aburning on bald-souled hungry hunting eyes over-head in shrinking shadows seagullsscavenge.1981
autumn sightings
autumn sightings Raymond Weaver a light flickers, fades. behind ancient azure eyes chrysanthemums pale. the roses falter; hands, like wounded, forgotten doves, twitch in her lap. 1995
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Call Boy- Version 2
Call Boy- Version TwoRaymond Weaverrolled over & underbalding bulk la-boring into port like a rudderlessscow, he chews visions of Ganymede’s spread-eager- eagled be- neath greened-god hulks’or Puerto Rican moviecops dipping and ri-sing in motorcycle roaringbolero rhythmsinto sweet caveswhere Jupiter showshis … Continue reading
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