INSIDE THIS ISSUE:
Laszlo Slomovits
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NAMES from up here the river is brown- uniformed, a restless guard dutifully separating the living from the merely lively. the living is the green of nature's turf. the lively is everything else-- the toy cars raced by invisible hands, the cages of steel & glass where engines run on blood, sweat & pride, & the roads, clad in black; aged referees running through the impatient plans of the world. diminished by desire, I succumb-- like every one of the restless rest-- to the riotous rhythms of these stands. every now & then my gaze falls, like a gloomy shadow, on one of the many hands of fate, each painstakingly adding to the stone score- board beyond the river's edge, the names of yet more living dead.
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Ann Arbor Review
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