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Poetry

Dear Empire [these are your salt flats]

By

These are your salt flats. They lie past the highways, past the towns with gas stations whose names sear the eye in mono-syllable and neon.

Topical Poem

At Villequier

By

Now that Paris, its cobbles and effigies,
And fog and roofs are far enough from my eyes;
Now that I'm beneath the boughs of trees,
And I can muse on the beauty of the skies;