Home improvement
is the death of poetry. Youth sports are the death of poetry. Illness is the
death of poetry. Day-old ducks are the death of poetry. Kay Ryan was asked if
she thought being Poet Laureate would make it more difficult to write. “No,” she
said. “I think it will make it impossible.”
Bowls of spider
web
like hammocks
strung in the grass:
fairy
encampment.
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