New Yorker poems 7/10 & 7/17 2017: on wrecking balls & trumpets

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Andrea Cohen – Wrecking Ball 

Its offices are thin
air. On days off

Read rest of poem 

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Clive James – A Heritage of Trumpets

The clear, clean line was always the ideal.
Though there was subtlety in how Miles muttered,
One always ached to hear a song line uttered
With definition, lyrical and real:

Read rest of poem 

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