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ISSUE:  Spring 2010

When it rains
I lie flat spread out distant
in a fog

I feel wet twigs
of blackthorn
stretched out under my skin
gnarled prickly

the capillarity
of blood vessels
of the stems of plants

up flows blood rust
bile patina
and colors the plain

on the rim
of the coal basin
a ploughman with a horse
forms a pastoral image
spread out forgotten


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