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Greg K.
I don't pinky swear.
I don't pinky swear.

Greg's posts

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Have Mercy On Me


"I'm a fixer," he says.

Michael, he can sweep together two hundred people, all with good reputations. Every one of them would say: "Yeah, that Michael he's a fixer, one of our best. That Michael what a guy."

Low, low, in the liquid-pit of his brain, a sound: a ringing of a bell. There's clanging, clanging, clanging. A bell's clanging underwater. The sound is this: C'mon, fixer! C'mon fixer, time to fix your life. He speaks the words from low, low in his throat.

Michael says three more: "I'm a fixer."

For the first time, this sounds good to him.

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Four On Six


Sounds from the trees; yes, I hear songbirds.

Coming with the wind, a rush. Judgement,
or Mercy. Hard to tell. And coming across the
water, l hear all these fair-minded people
filling up their boats, with Justice. Full hulls.

They will sail some day; yes, on a fine day.

Good Boy

Go on, allow your life story to be made in this world you've found. Go on, go along. Allow, yours. To be made in this world's factory—assembly section citizenry assembly section philosophy. Be made, move along, good boy. Who you are, who you are. Let this be free of crimes and sins; oh, have this appear to be so. Go on, move the whole thing along, let this be their favorite numb your confused dull story. Oh yeah, go on, good boy.

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Blue Moon

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Page One


Ah, ah, these sharpened skill-sets,
this launching-off of habit-smiles,
this standing-just-so to play masters—
all added to The Big Show
we like to call Real Life,
or in-a-word,

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Shaggy Dog

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Round Lights
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