Patricia K. Page quotes

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And of the swan in death these dreamers tell
of its last flight and how it falls, a plummet,
that warm metamorphosis of snow
as gentle as the sort that woodsmen know
After the brief bivouac of Sunday,
their eyes, in the forced march of Monday to Saturday,
In their eyes I have seen
the pin men of madness in marathon trim
race round the track of the stadium pupil.
In the felt of the morning the calico minded,
sufficiently starched, insert papers, hit keys,
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