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PICNIC BOAT

HAPPINESS

ONION DAYS

A FENCE

ANNA IMROTH

CUMULATIVES

LIMITED

FELLOW CITIZENS

IN A BREATH

HIGH noon. White sun flashes on the Michigan Avenue
     asphalt. Drum of hoofs and whirr of motors.
     Women trapsing along in flimsy clothes catching
     play of sun-fire to their skin and eyes.

Inside the playhouse are movies from under the sea.
     From the heat of pavements and the dust of sidewalks,
     passers-by go in a breath to be witnesses of
     large cool sponges, large cool fishes, large cool valleys
     and ridges of coral spread silent in the soak of
     the ocean floor thousands of years.

A naked swimmer dives. A knife in his right hand
     shoots a streak at the throat of a shark. The tail
     of the shark lashes. One swing would kill the swimmer. . .
     Soon the knife goes into the soft under-
     neck of the veering fish. . . Its mouthful of teeth,
     each tooth a dagger itself, set row on row, glistens
     when the shuddering, yawning cadaver is hauled up
     by the brothers of the swimmer.

Outside in the street is the murmur and singing of life
     in the sun--horses, motors, women trapsing along
     in flimsy clothes, play of sun-fire in their blood.

Carl Sandburg

BRONZES

HANDFULS


FOG

CHOOSE

FLUX

WHITE SHOULDERS

LOSSES

TROTHS

THE ROAD AND THE END


THE ROAD AND THE END

WHO AM I?

FOGS AND FIRES


AT A WINDOW

UNDER THE HARVEST MOON

MONOTONE

JOY

I SANG

JUNE

BETWEEN TWO HILLS

LAST ANSWERS

YOUNG SEA

OTHER DAYS


FROM THE SHORE

UNDER A TELEPHONE POLE

LANGUAGES

THE MIST

GYPSY

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