The hope a mooncalf follows
is sacrifice for slaughter,
and yet the wings of swallows
still skip across the water. 

The Official Website of the Leading Formalist Poet 

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Don Quixote

Suddenly, I am astride a donkey with Sancho Panza. As

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Wake Cake

  You fly back home, sit at the kitchen table

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No Flowers, No Doves

  When we entered the burning city charred corpses greeted

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Grey Oak

I turn the stony corner where the graveyard begins. Today

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© by Leo Yankevich
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