Category: Poetry
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That year we learned. D’Nealian forms; the tinny reek of Salisbury steak, the scorched tomato-sugar sauce on square-cut crust;
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After we’d killed the deer out on the highway the cows would stop me staring, how their hides, blotched like world maps
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I used to think a green room was where jealous people went
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It’s the part of farming he despises, which is why he leaves it to others.
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her mother asked… “does he smell arab?”
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yet in a sound of great washing like upward rain up they all go as winged shit or a flock of swallows
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We’ve been there the silence of reeds all around us
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The scientist felt a pronounced need for something whole that used to be green
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it is humans who nurture flowers with blade hands
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pitted, laying long like a twig. And I think of God, of all things
