| J. D. Heskin | ![]() |
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CURRENT ISSUE
These poems are
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riding the range
in balanced colors
flea market find:
a horse fly
the old dog
in greedy fists
half asleep, I see
a stern look
the strains of Haydn
from ditch to ditch
told of the oil
the cool night --
walking away
buying a ticket
just enough rain
wandering around
remembering when
This webpage is Copyright © 2001 by Denis M. Garrison.
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