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Todd Swift
Poem for Later

Much of this is want, of you.
Who reads this now? Not many.
Therefore, few. It is the few I go for.
I fly at them. Into their
eye. You'll take the vision
that you're given, like a stew
served up in debtor's prison. Go
on, and listen. Take it down.
I glisten, like a glistering coin
sleek as a raven in pitch-black rain -
am awful and beautiful in one
extenuating uncontained motion.


 

 

 

 

 

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