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Even though the first thing I ever had published was a poem, I only write about one or two poems a year anymore, usually when something I see when out walking shouts to me something I can't put into words otherwise. That's what happened today, when I saw a bunch of blown-down Christmas decorations while walking dog Dandelion and whistling Coltrane's Equinox in the long shadows of the late afternoon. I hardly ever share my poems with others, just write them in the slim green notebook devoted to poetry, images, and interesting words and leave it at that. Sometimes I go back and rework a poem that pops back into my head years later. Every once in a while, [cialis next day] I'll share a poem with someone who I think might like it. That's what happened today. Eastern Shore Sanctuary cofounder Miriam Jones, who really is a poet -- she's got new poems slated to come out in something like five or seven literary journals in coming months -- insists that cialis next day I share this one with you. I almost always do what Miriam tells me. So, even though I just wrote it and it's not even in my usual style, since I've been so silent lately and I'm feeling reckless cialis next day, here it is: Dispatch from the Scene Somebody shot down Santa Claus Jesus Mary and Joseph in my neighbor's yard. Cialis next day right next to the field where my neighbor and his friends shoot down deer. Suspect vultures have been seen in the vicinity congregated in black masses facing the solstice sun. Wild turkeys warble from their wooded hide-outs communiques garbled by the whistling wind. A mourning dove investigates the plastic wreakage. "Who killed Christmas?" She won't say. The sole surviving electrified reindeer slowly shakes his head. * * * I'll be back soon with more substantial posts on bird flu, the ethics of suffering, and the mathematics of animal liberation.


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