Deer Poem Emerges from the Underbrush
Here’s the poem that came from the notes in my last blog. I thought you’d like to see what happened next. The Superbowl left the poem. Computer pornography left the poem. The mall-guys got hold of me and put themselves into it, almost co-stars, with their tattoos and nose rings, all of which struck me as being very much like the deer—skittish, afraid of being seen—really seen, that is—in their teenage angst and their primal needs. Like the deer with their white tails elevated, that dignity. I realized that as I watched the deer, I was really concerned with distance: ours from them,...
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