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Think: Species Tell me: Anything could begin. The way the wood of tar beside the lake, and she, like a pool of ink, the sky sink: shallow, polluted bowl beneath from this place, the bottom of the lake, and find believe ourselves capable of knowing how to believe the plastic covering the top of the water, You Are Everything But Alive I've watched you for days, and your small thirst, wing that is a room no longer a room, or a fragment of this tree that melted to a red stone that asked us answer other than to say, take in the sight of sun alive, to watch you become the same hard substance, Shireen Madon has poems appearing in DIAGRAM, Fawlt Magazine, and Western Humanities Review. In June 2010, she was Poet-in-Residence at the Artists' Enclave at I-Park. contact |
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