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| 88 Muscatel Sonnet You follow the old man who hauls a plastic garbage bag, sloping up the street— feel its drag and clank tugging like ballast, a hard pull backward that you must pull against in order to drag your sorrows along the path of least resistance, scrap-metal feet chugging toward all that can be hoped for, a clear night for Jupiter’s blessing, a bag of smashed cans too full for regret, a warm spot in your gut. ...

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