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Darling, do you rememberthe man you married? Touch me, remind me who I am.

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You must be careful not to deprive the poem of its wild origin.

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...few young poets [are] testing their poems against the ear. They're writing for the page, and the page, let me tell you, is a cold bed.

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In my darkest night,when the moon was coveredand I roamed through wreckage,a nimbus-clouded voicedirected me:“Live in the layers,not on the litter.”Th...more