Abstract

112 rebecca wolff Remains You can’t read these stones Their ancient theme Long shadow on the short grass And if you could— the interference the interference in your process. “My daughter sleeps” the news is bad The truth is wives outlive their lives. Cremains: Some wealth pertains, in private graveyard and its maintenance: Lord Byron and his walking talk. John Keats and his talking clock. Tick tock. Wordsworth, the immortal vault. My poem. CRSUM09 poetry.indd 112 5/22/2009 12:37:04 PM 113 rebecca wolff What’s Been Missing from My Life here in Boise intoxicants, my fluid transmission gay men and their art graveyards, their old dead the little hitch in my step that means I have to pee I can’t hear you the mountains are blocking the frequencies CRSUM09 poetry.indd 113 5/22/2009 12:37:04 PM ...

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