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image borrowed from Tess
Schnittke's Stone
You showed me
a song among
the uncut hair
of Russian graves,
a simple stave
juxtaposed quiet
against a frenzy
of rough granite,
sufficient polystyle
for long wild runs,
miniscule breaths,
ever-present ghosts,
his puberty rights
relinquished
in loud silence
prolonged.
tess kincaid
February 2011
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