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With Due Respect To Thor

 The dog has shrunk between the brake and clutch.
His shaking shakes a two-ton truck.
From a God so furious, he cannot hide his hide.
Outside, in the world at large, black hours are being pearled and shafted.
A tree stands out spectacularly branched; the mind's eye grows alert.
This thing can hurt.
It had us once, it's having volts of big idea again—about thirteen a minute.
Do we need to know more? Are we sure? Just wait—a brain this insecure may need another bolt be driven in it.

by Heather McHugh
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