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David Troupes

The Picnic The sun rises in a clockwork of brass, in a slow sitar bend, this town's two or three steeples like two or three goats on the hill above the fen. Take this fruit and we'll sit on the grass and watch the beetles crawl, beetles who know all there is to know about means and ends.

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FUGUE#3l

Fugue 31 - Summer/Fall 2006 (No. 31)  

The Literary Digest of the University of Idaho

Fugue 31 - Summer/Fall 2006 (No. 31)  

The Literary Digest of the University of Idaho