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66 When Faulkner Killed Rilke The black cedar is edited from a nightmare, and the deconstructed oak An outtake from a terrible dialogue between the earth and a lightning bolt. Whoever you are, come out of your room. The mundane radiance of winter afternoon Is replaying something you called my life, O numinous, O golden, etc. In the trailer Parked forty years ago behind the brick plant, one of the ancients of the earth knocks back Another bourbon. Rilke never wrote the word Mississippi. As far as Mississippi knows, Rilke never wrote. Muddy water, impossible shore, which came first, the chicken or the road? ...

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