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WENDY STERN - POEMS
Is your aim particularly good
As you shoot your arrows into the wild night storm
So that they end up landing time and again,
Perfectly placed at my front door?
Or is it that the wind swirls and swoops
And reroutes them through that blackened void
So that they end up landing,
Perfectly positioned, perfectly poised, at my front door?
Or is it that I, naked of flesh,
Naked of bone,
Am just a particularly,
Just a particularly,
Just a particularly...
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