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Opera in a closed car.

opening the jewel box, the faded velour the sun has fit itself to, the temptations of freedom if I could take

them out. in all the red richness of Little Russia they are drinking wine,

white burgundy, and elaborating to the chafed boundaries;

how in all this thinking have we gotten to this restaurant? there is much talk of opera. Writing one--I will be Brunnhilde, you Marguerite and sing

together, and all that has to do with the loose cut of

seersucker or some soaking to wash out the wine. the notes I take operas with disapproving chorus. my friend

leaves. I am very desolate. we will improvise.
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Author:Bowden, Janet
Publication:The American Poetry Review
Date:Mar 1, 1993
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