Arsenic Lobster poetry journal |
Issue Thirty-four Spring 2014 |
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False Pilgrim Six for Gertrude Stein Jeanine Stevens My feet are not quantum nor measured in brown: boxes, toggles and bones. I want more than tossing stones like vagabond shoes, or something wild, like snakes on Mars. Wren catches fortune in her throat, disturbs, scatters the wind. The arena fills with winter rains. Each clasp repairs, latches bronze with clean and shine. The hastened trek brought me here my cancelled check keeps me near. The borders of Rome never were, calculations made in error, turn around, aim the arrow. |
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