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Who died? Who died? Who died? My Mother’s Body, My Professor, My Bower Who died? My mother’s body, my professor, my bower, my giant clam. Serene water, professor of copious clay, of spiraling finger-holes in the clay, of blue breast-milk, first pulse, all thought: there is nothing to get. You can’t eat money, dear throat, dear longing, dear belly, dear fatness, dear silky fastness: ecstatic lungs’ breath, you can’t protect yourself, there is nothing to get. Butane The huge aluminum airship is gliding over us, you and I with our children walking by Westport’s trees, seashore, gold trees, gold seashore. I say, What’s that? But no one sees it. Then the second ship crashes just behind us, spills butane lighter fluid over the field, thinly spreading, fast, out over the next field; the river at wolf 209 ...

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