Arsenic Lobster
poetry journal |
Issue Fifteen Winter 2007 |
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12. Yermiyahu Ahron Taub Crowds milled, murmured, marched to the central depot. Something in your hand, voice pulled me back to the millinery, to what was left of silk and feathers and dotted veils. Dimly, I remembered whispers about plans of escape into the forest. What did I know then of such things? The city lies still now as I remember your signal. |
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About Yermiyahu Ahron Taub |