Oyster Boy Review 09  
  May 1998
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» Levee 67


Finding Poetry

Billy Little

its teeth
in my neck
eleven, a virgin
thawt it was my dog

never had a dog

died when I was six
slid oof the roof
out the dormer, my attic aerie
broke its back
on the picket fence
across the street
from the 18th century boneyard

but mehitable was my muse
no scotty
don marquis my blake
langston hughes' simple
my diogenes