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49 NOTLOVE POEM FOR THE FENCE AT THE END OF THE FIELD We love a rose because it will soon be gone. —Rod Serling The last thing the world needs is another love poem. Overhead, the secret cloud society moves in enormous silence, foretelling us our past lives. At the end of the field the air has a charged taste of rust about to take root, wired barbs set to snag against a future that never arrives. Suddenly and suddenly. Wind cuts through the fence, folds the grass over revealing a billboard on the horizon advertising, Death Bed For Sale: free. ...

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