| Three
Poems R.T. Castleberry |
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[Listen to readings of these poems.] The Traveler at a Loss Pulled to the streets, like the night dog on its course beyond the refinery fences and Four Corners, I watch the casualty list grow poets drunk in the crosswalk, singers dying on the causeway. Their stories, refrains of weakness, of weariness, are mine. Their vocabulary, remorseless as rain, is mine. Stale until dawn, I watch an emigrant moon traverse |
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