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From downstairs comes an overload of lies and suppositions out of Washington. I shut the door and open up a book of poems that chip and twitter like hard- luck sparrows. And underneath that harmonic line, I tune in Rodrigo, who plaints guitar to sing of places no gentler by the blood that bears us, lung to brain and hungers. And yet, more beautiful than this evening’s news, an elegy of strings.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2006

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