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A minor major, not Yeats yetnear enough. A voicecutting through the mysticdrizzle to the unadulteratedclay of life, sings --to the irony of saints --s..
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A few reluctant feet left … thispoem suggests itself, butiamb unwilling to submitto inky permanence, remain transient:as if, pen abhorsposterit..
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They say I have her eyes, thoughI was born before she went blind, sohow I am meant to read thisis questionable. Butwhat I remember is howimpossible it..
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written in response, inspiration of Verlaine's grand poem
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Remembering Heaney. Final edit to what is for me the most pleasurable write of the year I been here. Having completed the edit just in time to say tha..
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From the kitchen, the unmistakable whistleof a crustacean being returnedto the water, perforates the ear like a rowof cherries rolling a line of Vegas..
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here's hoping I've found my mojo again, been a while
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after last night's setting sun
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She was not an easy
woman to love.
Hardened,
unrepentant burrfish
persistence to rule
of roots,
her old-world
sentiment by times too mu..
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Always this
whisper,
supposition of
voice cries
out who -- you
you you …
Time swirl,
eddy and
whorl, inflection
of lan..
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