| Tony Leuzzi |
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| Sonnet for the Second Hand A book of poems lying in the witchgrass, turned-down in the weedy clusters of brush-- And who left it? For what forgotten class were marks made in the margins, written flush to edge? A list of words to find, to learn: wisteria, tincture, yammering, crone… A summing phrase at every page's turn as when a mountain is reduced to stone. Then, the penned confessions: I want to cry… kill me now…Such acts of overstating! The spine is cracked three times, and the pages weathered damp and yellow. But who am I to make complaints? The book is here, is waiting-- I have wanted to read it for ages. |
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