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Lynda, it wasn’t dog skin. He told his wife he wouldn’t wear a coat made out of “man’s best friend.” Ghost star, is there a dog there? Any friend? Fellini in Purgatory He was shoveling sand at the edge of the water, his heavy black glasses glittered with rain: “Don’t you see how much like a woman I am?” Shovel, shovel. His throat was wrapped in water, and the water flowered with milt. Shoveler, are you eating the earth? Earth eating you? Teach me what I have to have to live in this country. And he, as calm as calm, though he was dead: “Oh,—milt,—and we’re all of us milt.” Elegy for Jane Kenyon The rooks rise off the field in a black W and break up, black Cassiopeia breaking up growing darkness, growing light 231 ...

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