My father was born in a year of flying saucers. He keeps waiting for them to come back for him, but since he's still on this planet, we celebrated his sixty-sixth birthday today with hamburgers and angelfood cake and books. My mother is reading my niece's unbirthday present to her, a picture book about being followed around by ideas. I spent some time clearing branches out of the side yard. My father is talking about New York City; my brother leaves for Radolfzell tomorrow. Geopolitically, things are worse every time I look. On the household level—this is important—today is all right.
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- 1: Is it the lustre of immortality?
- 2: I can see the alchemy
- 3: Did karma do you justice when you're down and out and lost?
- 4: Distant as a northern star
- 5: And deregulate the couple at the bottom end
- 6: You don't have to fly into the sun
- 7: I had no inkling of just how far the plates of our continents would crack
- 8: And we're on the right side of the ground where they bury the bones
- 9: I'm not related to anyone
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- Style: Classic for Refried Tablet by and
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