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This poem is taken from PN Review 209, Volume 39 Number 3, January - February 2013.

(from SWAY)
Mark Dow
Or we're in a translucent loop like
the one
the sea is and are always in arrival.

All that blue depth pressed into one plane
would be
about the same see-through deep-blue

as of the Dictabelts my father used to
use to
dictate to his secretary: contracts,

wills, lease agreements, memoranda of
standing, standard legal instruments,

and correspondence, sometimes personal,
though he'd
take birthdays and such-like into his own

polygraph-sharp and unwavering hand,
stroke so
insistent it became illegible,

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