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W. B. Keckler
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Archaic
 
To cause to be carried on
what speaks—at length—wind

or politicals gerrymandering the soul
lost in its own comprehension,
never guessing how much it loses by that.

Nature is not a countdown
nor are the human arts—despite
tenant metaphors pricking ears
because of the cold ground
which does not give
below one’s feet—material possessions:

the arms, legs, lips—they
who may hold the ladder steady—

posthumously loving—Be my grave

                                             my world




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