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Dutch Elm – Stanley Plumly 

 

I miss the elms, their “crowns of airy dreams,”
as Virgil calls them, their towering cathedral branching
spread into a ceiling above the lonely sidewalks of Ohio
where the first elm deaths were reported in America

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Prufrock’s Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Red Wheelbarrow Glazed with Rain beside White Chickens – A.M. Juster

I.

Let us go then, you and I,

As the stench spreads out around the sty

Like a drumstick decomposing on a table.

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Rendition – Katrina Roberts

If “truth is a fire,” as Klimt scrawled on a sketch for his
painting Nuda Veritas, “and to speak truth means to shine and
to burn,” then I’m a spent firework, blown-open, hollow, grime-

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Oft in the Stilly Night – Thomas Moore

Oft in the stilly night

Ere Slumber’s chain has bound me,