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This poem is taken from PN Review 64, Volume 15 Number 2, November - December 1988.

The Dream Clive Wilmer

Under those heads, an argument of coils,
Protean, polymorphous, serpentine.
Hot breath, bared teeth: the questioning is mine,
The questions not. I strike. A neck recoils,

Gives way before my answer. Thus I hack
Into the bloated flesh of it: thus, thus.
Winged helmet, carven shield: the fabulous
Purity, grace and swiftness of attack!

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