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R. S. Patton

Winter 1958

A City

By R. S. Patton

The pink stuff of snails is evidently strapped by a great doom, which accounts for the voided shells millioning the seabeaches: dumb whorls to the waves, a city of fled […]

Winter 1958

Mishap

By R. S. Patton

Smash! the blue fragments scatter like pierced birds around, and for shamed minutes after the clutched unbroken pitcher screams to his startled eyeball. The hand of Ganymede withdraws, protests the […]

Winter 1958

For Hart

By R. S. Patton

The night is lamped with powerful beauty, and the oaks tremble with strange song. Ancestral seas tide to our windows, and the round government burns at our eyes. Inheriting hands […]