|1||A Bird Is A Desperate|
|2||Area Of Dog|
|3||Canticle For The Second Sunday In Lent|
|4||For Instance, Everything May Be Divisible By Three|
|5||Many Of Us Identify With Animals|
|6||The Little Man In The Fire Hates Me|
|7||The Night Autopsy|
|8||What Begins Bitterly Becomes Another Love Poem|
|9||What Is A Soprano|
|10||What Is Performance|
|Many Of Us Identify With Animals|
| Half a toy being better than|
none. A forest being better than none.
An argot, a pidgin. And the miraculous brevity
of small objects. A broken comb. Detach'd
leg of a beetle. One thinks of children
on their crutches, their encounters with ghosts.
Of all shapes & sizes. Thin branches
of the river myrtles . . .
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|What Begins Bitterly Becomes Another Love Poem|
| The earth has a taste for us, in its unknowing|
appetite there yet resides a hunger, incompletion
that draws all life to its dark self. What, then,
shall we say of the flesh's own desire, distal
thumb-brush at evening? There is nothing to say,
the vowels cluster uncertain in the beautiful vase
the throat makes . . .
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