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The Outcome
Kit RobinsonWhen I was a musician’s musician
I used to be a poet’s poet
then a black boxTurned off the alarm system
according to the script
at this time the outcomeIs unknown
and I
am a professor of indeterminacyIn collaboration
with my trusted business partners
the birdsWho inhabit this hillside platform
enduring the confused status
of a forklift upgradeThey sing and I
merely stare at apples
and occasional other fruitCitrus combine of this belated orchard
in Little Romania
next to where waterCascades down steps that lead
to something not immediately
identifiable as suchA febrile dog
ripping the hell out of
an inflatable wading poolSuch are the pleasures
of Little Romania
the skyAn unvariegated deadpan blue
the mild undertone of desolation
dusted with erotic chimesIt would be foolish to think
and I have no intention
in keeping with this interoperable crepusculeWe are open
the advent of standards is a boon
hail to the salt in our woundsWe hold these truths
faster than speed
it never entered my mindHere in midsummer
the day is long
the train sound recoils in the hillsEvery bit of mental ice
is used up
in the emotional juice we drinkAnd words mean nothing
and the movies suck
less than our heart’s desireMore than you ever know
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