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The Art of Poetry
- Red Hen Press
- Chapter
- Additional Information
5 The Art of Poetry That which flies low is my poetry. Dredging the odors deep withing the grassland. I don’t look for height. Vertigo of soaring. I assault the distances flying low. There is the word, the sweet and forgotten one, fresh and with roots or redolent of fear. Iridescent thing like the meat of a cadaver, turning into seed. ...