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November 7, 2008 The New School, New York City From the Academy Audio Archive

only gray rocks with drifting mist...

Rusty Morrison

 

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Rusty Morrison

by this poet

poem

the rustle of a Sunday bundle of newspapers tucked under my father's arm stop
and no father walking toward me stop
on the branch only oak leaves reddening as wind ripens their talent for exodus stop

on the lawn a scatter of wrens head-down but tail-erect stop

poem

 

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poem

I might travel his death a creaking and swaying beneath me stop
there are static expressions freed now and passing along the walls stop
an object isn’t what is hidden but what smiles out from the hiding please

with only the slightest effort I might abandon