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By Robert James Berry I can make a language out of kelp the due north of a broken bottle but these symbols are hard to read and don't disturb the imagination when the bluffs make forbidding masks or a gull feasts vocally on a crab's broken back. Here the night is sudden; a light makes a compass point then flicks out leaving me to muse the tide at my feet, the grainy blackness you can push fingers into. The seamonstered gulf. And out there beyond the offing are other islands where it grows visceral in sunset like a great bloodletting and the dusk longs for war. © Copyright 2004, Robert James Berry, All Rights Reserved |
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Document last modified on: 01/06/2007