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  • by Jennifer FinleyWhen you feel like a block of woodwhen you used to be a branch whippingup after a lump of snow slid off you,what are you supposed to…
  • Put your fire to my forestand pour on oil.Your gasoline to the struck tipof the waiting matchand I will stop whatever I'm doingbecause in a minute you and…
  • the empty lake, the static on the radio, the yearswith missing handle bars—the one that halfway fit him was the gloves.He wore them all spring, then all…