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Where the ashes ofthose who were once turned to Pompeian lava Will abandon their smouldering silkworks, Their velvet slags, and take on the courtliness Ofghosts: then, then the sky will be gone from us Forever, we wretched ones who can love nothing But light. Such will the craters tell you-any crater Will tell you, dry-heaving and crouching: will tell us we've stumbled Onto one: we're ill one, dry-heaving and crouching. AttemptedDeparture withAndre du Bouchet I come back hoping to leave From these planks; for farewell and for lift-offI am lighting Four walls ofa fire, here. Blank plaster comes alive On me in square gold: my shadow goes giddy with dimension, dropping off The outflanked pious hunger ofthe flat; The damn thing can come at me now Like death, from anywhere but while I stand No side protected, at home, play-penned With holocaust the slashes disappear from this flayed back, like My step on the rammed road, the only thing fleeing. Poem through a French poet, Roland Bouheret, and my running father For having left the birds that left me Better streaks on my eyes than they can make Double-tongue: Collaborations and Rewrites / 470 ...


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MARC Record
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