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G: But it's still not all right withyou? K: But it's still not all right with me. AWP Chronicle A blend of peppermint/spearmint for a sick tummy: tummy mint a poultice for embroidery on ignorance. Mine's a muslin bag; yours chamois for vision, poked with herbs: feverfew, forget-me-not, sweet nettle, powdered thistle, rue for dreams: marriage, palm to palm, or no distinctions, races,genders, each to each: dear Darwin in his garden, counting earthworms. They'll feed on us, our knowledge mingled under a thatch of gravegrass.Dear me, you stuff your pack as I embroider, prick my thumb on floss flowers, pure silk, the one substance eugenics could not touch in its indifference. My tummy hurts. No poem can salve me, or beach grass in sun. I deliver you to hear a lecture. I trick myself with tea. We go our separate ways again.We try and try. Yet what rhymes casts up her barbs. 73 ...

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