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Jacob Russell Angel of Death in Exile On a veranda in Uruguay, he sits upon a white cane chair, sips coffee from a china cup, while a Macaw calls In the green heat, I saw him blowing down the street on the Daily News a name the wind let slip A yellowed leaf, a curl of smoke from his cigarette lifts idly upward thin as his white hair, neatly combed a solitary bead of sweat on his trembling lip

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Profile for Conversation Poetry

CPQ Summer 2012  

CPQ Summer 2012

CPQ Summer 2012  

CPQ Summer 2012

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