The other day my cat, Whizzy, had to be put to sleep. I knew the little bastard a long time, he was 20 years old. Later that day, riding the bus, I happened to open a book of Hart Crane poems to the following and started bawling on the damn bus
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Fucker, I'm crying again.
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george. i'm sorry. i know exactly how awful this is. i had to do the same thing right before i moved here and it tore out my fucking heart.
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it is a great poem, isn't it? it was beloved of ginsburg, and with good reason.
i'm sorry, man.
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