sad and strange
off the range
beyond the boundary fence
where you rest with barely a lick of sense
Louise Gluck
soft and slick in your metered brain
teaching poetry under the driving rain
of New England
where you stand with sharp words and fate
heavy on a wounded heart, the cemetery gate
opens as you wander by,
closes when you shut one eye:
a skeleton with bones raw white
rises to kiss your lips tonight.
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