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ISSUE:  Autumn 2003
You have to place a chair in the middle of the room,
otherwise empty. White walls, fresh paint.
You have to keep your eyes open
any time you sit. One lantern on the windowsill
at your back, and a conjunction of beads
that reduce the wind to soft clicks. Also,
you throw upon the white walls
half a dozen earthworms that have risen
to the sidewalk during the rain. You do this
solely by the power of your inner eye.
Project, also, on the wall, one owl,
at times wise and penitential on a branch,
at others calculating the swoop to home
while a young rabbit drips from its talons.
The young man who did this had composed
a lengthy letter to the newspaper concerning
the nature of voluntary action. We saw him
in the sunlight go into his room over the street.
There was a second storm brewing over the lake.
Apart from one wooden chair, a lantern,
and twenty strings of beads, the room was bare.


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