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Windows greg nissan

All I have learned from this century is to be like grass and only speak when spoken through. Silence is a series of small sounds; your human hiss is miniature wind, or larger. Size—sometimes aspacial, a measure of everything prior.

All I have learned from this century is that friends are faces that keep me places. Lovers omit “obviously” at the end of every sentence. Poetry is the sound of sirens while you sleep, not loud enough to wake you but to assume some crucial role in your dream.

Issue 45 Fall 2011  
Issue 45 Fall 2011  

Clerestory Journal of the Arts

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