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R O B E RT B E N S E At Kellogg’s Landing I start with the car packed. Urgencies boxed. There’s lightning to the south. This morning the sacred cows were sent to slaughter. I no longer advise on securities. Commodities have been severed from the malice of weather. Horses from hands, fat daughters. The vigil of books behind me. Works and days. Age’s broken pediments. The alluvial landscape I drive through accumulates particulars. Children abandoned. MTV in the school lounge. Greyhounds shot. Scrutiny peering from hills sliced by the river I look for. Behind the wheel I sort out my ruin. Somewhere, whole wards fearing contagion. Easy malaise of the bourgeoisie. Promise of rain seems just. Storms follow water. The towboat with barge for eight cars answers the flash of my lights. I’m the only car but character follows. Wind whipping up the willows on the river bank. I cross over to Missouri. Judgment at my heels. The passing horn of a tow high sorrowful out in the current. It’s already a dirty river but I’m running from my life. 262 ❚ The 2000s ...

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