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I lie on the sofa, stretched out like a corpse, With eyes closed against the dying light, Lulled by the silence beyond the waves Of traffic. Until, eventually, the good-humor man, On his last go-round, penetrates the fog, And I resign myself to another final squandered Afternoon: to not being able to function at this Or any other time of day. |
| PAY BY CHECK |
| [76 pg. paperback] $10.95 + S&H |