My Almost-Daughter, my Nearly-was Son (Chris Forhan Poems)
Those overtime nights in the ice factory, eyeing gauges, greasing gears: that's one thing. And the hours of clarinet lessons.All ...
Those overtime nights in the ice factory, eyeing gauges, greasing gears: that's one thing. And the hours of clarinet lessons.All ...
unfurling our Japanese parasolsout in the desertwe arrange our dolls' tea seton an upturned butter boxwe have invited the little ...
Yes, yes, my boy, by all means train for war.Do knots and splices, morse and semaphore;And learn to drill, and ...
I dreamed that dead, and meditating, I lay upon a grave, or bed, (at least, some cold and close-built bower). ...
Her arms semaphore fat triangles, Pudgy HANDS bunched on layered hips Where bones idle under years of fatback And lima ...
Beyond the Rocking Bridge it lies, the burg of evil fame, The huts where hive and swarm and thrive the ...
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