The Nation, October 6th, 1984
ANDROMEDA I sit in my cell and stare at an empty page: Hoping the image hasn't ebbed away, Dissolved in the dream I dreamed before The edge of morning touched the Outer Banks. It's a familiar hell we travel through: Not as a connoisseur, caressing the artifacts, But like Dante, in dismayed complicity, Sighing and groaning with the passionate dead. The throbbing head drifts forward through th...
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