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radio radio | by pup707
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radio radio

in the middle of every field,

obscured from the side by grass

or cornhusks, is a clearing where

she works by burying swans alive

into the black earth. she only

buries their bodies, their wings.

she packs the dirt tight around

their noodle necks & they shake

like long eyelashes in a hurricane.

she makes me feed them by hand

twice a day for one full year: grain,

bits of chopped fish. then she

takes me to the tin toolshed.

again she shows me the world

inside her silver transistor radio.

she hands me the scythe.


-ben doyle, "radio, radio"

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Taken on February 20, 2007