Summer 1998 • Vol. XX No. 3/4 Poetry |

Day Twenty-Four Seven

Each day arrives in pieces, it's easy to put together, every- one does it, the functions appear, those paid to revolve rapidly begin, others gape, some welcome despair, a righteousness flaps like tattered flags, no one believes this crap, each would like to speak truly, live with no cause for regret. I take off my fake silver wings and stare out at the lawn where nothing much is happening, only night collecting and disposing of itself, the vegetable kingdom, distant uneasy  dogs.

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Charlie Smith has written five New York Times Notable Books and has received grants from the Guggenheim Foundation, the National Endowment for the Arts, and the New York Foundation for the Arts.

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Each day arrives in pieces, it's easy to put together, every- one does it, the functions appear, those paid to revolve rapidly begin, others gape, some welcome despair, a righteousness […]

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