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M a r c   V i n c e n z



Seeking a Home for the Spirit




          these ready-made phrases


fingered from a well-fed black hat,



        in a sheen

                      of magical intention,



        all over the place

                      like hand-reared mice—


mythical inflections of ire,


that deadly whiff

       mother left behind

                    on her icy bedside


and those cold honeys

        that barely, barely


                   made it.



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