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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Grey Oak

I turn the stony corner where the graveyard begins. Today

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Apollo’s Archaic Torso

We have no knowledge of his ancient brow where pippins

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Ezra Pound Enters the Tent

No, this is not a station in the metro, this

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A Tiny Glow

Without the moon or stars to guide his sight, without

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© by Leo Yankevich
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