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27 A MAN ENTERS THE ROOM HE HAS FORGOTTEN An ironing board with two kerchiefs and a Small, tilted stack of coins shining dully. A shotgun leans in the corner by a jack, White rag uncoiling From its muzzle Like a dream. On this windowsill and that, Rows of horse chestnuts and their shadows, Dust-clots, blue paint scuffed from walls, And slats of flooring warped and dulled By boots that arrive late at night, unsteady. On a cheap dresser, two pomegranates Ossify beside a chunk of dusty turquoise, A vial of holy water, a red-handled Barlow knife Nested in a mound of fingernail trimmings. When he washes his hands, he sees so clearly Dirt and bits of dried blood leaving his skin, Things he has no recollection of arriving. ...

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