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Risk
- Wesleyan University Press
- Chapter
- Additional Information
171 risk It is made up of (in our latitude) wind through an inflamed solar plexis. The lobelias are so close to the offbeat. O candy for our sore, Lend to beggars the hound, the flowers in season, the Rough Sun sun of the ripened nearly concocted colder than night O summer fly The lights are on; flesh is next to the body. Drinking out of the glass and the tide sways you in my arms. A membrane of wisdom or the lips. I spit. Nothing is changed. The lights are on. The sound of the waves through the traffic. I rub your body. Hold me: the waves. A fly alights on the glass. It sings a song with a nerve impulse. And the tide noticed by the birds———fit to eat comes back in ...