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If We Could Be Brought If we could be brought to the surface like a gleaming fish and served for supper, if we could eat and swallow our own life to make a good meal, if we could go fishing for ourselves and feed on the gleaming swimmer below the surface of our skin— the fish that is our slippery life and death. A Leaf Bearing leaves again, the tree that was the skeleton of itself: how is it I grow more tired with each succeedingyear of bringing a poem to life? I am not content as an old man growing nearer to myself, alive on earth, a leaf in season. / CloseMy Eyes I close my eyes like a good little boy at night in bed, as I was told to do by my mother when she lived, and before bed I brush my teeth and slip on my pajamas, as I was told, and look forward to tomorrow. I do all things required of me to make me a citizen of sterling worth. I keep a job and come home each evening for dinner. I arrive at the same time on the same train to give my family a sense of order. 762 | Poems of the 1990s ...

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