James Dickey quotes

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Not dancing but nearly risen
Through barnlike, theatrelike houses
On the winds of the buck and wing.
Proclaiming what choices there are
For the last dancers of their kind,
For years, they have all been dying
Out, the classic buck-and-wing men
The air split into nine levels,
Some gift of tongues of the whistler
the parking lot of the dead.
Drunk on the wind in my mouth,
Wringing the handlebar for speed,
Wild to be wreckage forever.
Off Highway 106
At Cherrylog Road I entered
neat lipsticked stockinged girdled by regulation
with the plane nowhere and her body taking by the throat
The undying cry of the void falling living beginning to be something
a little sight left in the corner
Of one eye fading seeing something wave lies believing
That she could have made it
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