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Poem for My One-Legged Lover, the Wine Glass, No. 51To Duane Locke's next piece


Statue
 
The snow has become stone,
The patina turned flesh-colored,
Took on the shape of a woman and walked.
Nightmares and the crying babies of nightmares
Sprouted out of the cold sidewalk,
Ran through the closed doors of the houses.