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— Robert Creeley"It is hard going to the door cut so small in the wall where the vision which echoes loneliness brings a scent of wild flowers in the wood."
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You cutting the lawn, fixing the machines, all this leprous day and then more vodka, more soda and the pond forgiving our bodies, the pond sucking out the throb.
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Death cut the strings that gave me life, And handed me to Sorrow, The only kind of middle wife My folks could beg or borrow.
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