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Your eye is a recoilless rifle
my hand so believes
fourteen winds rise up
as the

roomful ghosts
plastic hunters in the ear

there are highway gamblers
in your impenetrable dress

your miniature bites
the size of Texas

your satin calligraphy
and indigo jive

the years are obsidian
our romance is meadow

your eye is a leash of fire.

by Larry Sawyer

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