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1 We are aLL of Us nearLy hoMe In the furious meadow, each blowing leaf a tiny calendar. What time was it, what year. I have loved her how long. A green darkness traces patterns through grass, reciting the reasons why flowers appear black in old movies. Over here I see the sun has found religion. He is up to his waist in Floridian rye. According to the flaking, splotchy red of my knuckles, we have everything to fear. Which is why the horseflies mistake us for beggars. And why passions multiply in the country by four-fifths, which I finally agree is sufficient. For the sun here is an epileptic. is someone you love in the midst of a fit. I’m asking you to feel deep weight, intolerable helplessness. The earth is spinning the way children might when a storm overhead performs its invitational curtsy. For the stars we’ve issued arrest warrants. The blackness between them has been shaped into badges. The nosy offenders surrender like snow geese. All birds are authentic at night.We are all of us nearly home, 2 explains the beggar. Explains the tiny calendar. Not now. I’m trying to describe to you the weather. ...

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