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Why Call It Dust?

ISSUE:  Summer 2003

The body is the true divinity,
leaden and winged at once,
fearful and merciful,
terrible in its veiled,
relentless intentions.

The body knows
how to be born,
how to grow,
how to transpose
from borne to bearer,
how to suckle, how to sicken,
how to explode with pleasures beyond
the mind’s imagining,
how to hold on until
the final minute,
how to let go.

These legs and feet go
swinging by beneath me,
lively, imperative,
bearing me where I suppose
I must go, while I,
I might be whistling
on a distant road.
Day or night,
with or without
its sleeping passenger,
the body travels on.


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