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  • Published
    January 4, 2013

    In Praise of Unexpected Teachers

    Maybe Galileo had a real daughter that wasn’t me So I live to envy vision That is how I learn I am the brood of bold choices; a solitary destiny Traffic on the road less traveled gets worse all the time I am delivered to the refuge in an ecology of language the only way one can live there –– which is alone Luxe moments to savor the aftermath of reading words who puncture and remain The trophy of sentience is …

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