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- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 2009-07-29 | | Submited by jkloungsuh
Talking of poetry, hauling the books
arm-full to the table where the heads bend or gaze upward, listening, reading aloud, talking of consonants, elision, caught in the how, oblivious of why: I look in your face, Jude, neither frowning nor nodding, opaque in the slant of dust-motes over the table: a presence like a stone, if a stone were thinking What I cannot say, is me. For that I came.
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