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Four Poems

‘I swelter in the dusk / and chase the flies, abstractedly, / until I half forget them.’

ʻThe birds refused to fly and the soul / grated against the landscape.ʼ

‘The truth is, though no one says it, / They’re all worried about their children.’

‘No more, no longer the sweet difference / Between real and dream I knew.’

‘Consider yourself / a trombone blowing unheard.’

‘Theory cannot be tangible fact / like driving on I-95 to get to a lecture / on supernovae.’