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This poem is taken from PN Review 265, Volume 48 Number 5, May - June 2022.

Two Poems Dean Browne

Spring proliferates blown red roses!
I mean behind the sunlit glass.

Thrushes ruckus the fresh green hedges!
I mean I’m trying to sleep here.

Red squirrel and coot hurrah the park!
I mean the swings are empty.

Nothing’s far from fading.
A warped fence for your troubles.

Yet the salmon was never fresh here.
I mean my heart was torn.

I mean my future was sonnet-shaped
and you walked at the volta.

I lay you down now like a kitchen knife!
I mean sorry, wrong number.

What a moment to play Angel Olsen!

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