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Post by MoonyLuna on Jan 29, 2009 13:41:58 GMT -5
You had to use breath you didn't have enough of meanwhile staying in one lane of cinders running so far ahead of you you couldn't believe you were supposed to catch up to where it seemed to be going without you without the loss of your lungs your feet no longer yours your whole body longing for a tape suspended across a line you could see but had no sense you could ever touch without dying and being transformed into a creature of a higher lower order with wings or more legs than these two shreds at the ends of you and yours which had almost disappeared.
Copyright David Wagoner
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Post by MoonyLuna on Jan 29, 2009 13:42:40 GMT -5
Featured Poet David Wagoner
David Wagoner has published seventeen books of poems, most recently Good Morning and Good Night (University of Illinois Press, 2005), and ten novels, one of which, The Escape Artist (Farrar, Straus & Giroux, 1965), was made into a movie by Francis Ford Coppola. He won the Lilly Prize in 1991 and has won six yearly prizes from Poetry (Chicago). He was a chancellor of the Academy of American Poets for twenty-three years. He has been nominated for the Pulitzer Prize and twice for the National Book Award. He edited Poetry Northwest from 1966 to its end in 2002. He is Professor Emeritus of English at the University of Washington.
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