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48 The Band Angels ride along with their little xylophones.­  —David Shapiro Satan chugs through the fields playing sticks, bureaucrats change the tissue On their narrow combs, car horns play boat horns, collages Blow into pop bottles, widows and orphans play plastic violins, Saints shake bags of dragons’ teeth, a Coke machine thumps And thinks better of it. Magellan plays harp; Cortez, oboe. The Grand Canyon plays guitar; the Great Wall, cello. Longhorns play accordion. Dogs go Knick-knack paddy whack. Weasels aren’t popping, currently— The plains are glottal and burnished; their poignant wires Hum below ground, where digging Is prohibited. Angels ride, as ever, the lone atmosphere, their xylophones proud At their sides. ...

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