My arms reach across the city
the season of flying
the body travels
Water is a ghost, is everywhere
says the cloud always distant
or dying tragically
The puppy's sighs in the dark
like restless, sweaty prayers
hypnotized and alive
_
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James R. Kincaid, an English prof. at USC, has been writing in The Slate, and practically everywhere else, about how we are given to autom...
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