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27 February 2006 

He built four houses
to keep his life.
Three got away
before he was old.

He wonders now
rocking his chair
should he have built
a boat

dipping, dipping
and sitting so.





Van Gogh could see
twenty-seven varieties
of black
in cap-
italism.





I knew a clean man
but he was not for me.
Now I sew green aprons
over covered seats. He

wades the muddy water fishing,
falls in, dries his last pay-check
in the sun, smooths it out
in Leaves of Grass. He's
the one for me.





O my floating life
Do not save love
for things
Throw things
to the flood

ruined
by the flood
Leave the new unbought-
all one in the end-
water



Lorine Niedecker