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Transmutationthere are losers in this world --they walk like turtles with pliers affixed to their shells pulling off their protection leaving them like dull unpolished handles glinting under unforgiving sun. losers hanging from hooks clothes awry carrying their sorrow in lacquered wagons their tears flowing from bronze faucets like dry eyes. then there are the winners opening doors with cedar latches faint smell of sawdust hearts fluttering like hammers always certain they are right winners string light bulbs over dark violent ponds convinced that their heat will turn the door knob that opens. |
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Issue #24, December, 2001 :
Santa Fe Poetry Broadside.