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Spilled Milk on a Fresh Lawn


by Michael Tusa


What if it was all cut and calculated.
And the air 
circulated perfectly 
 around
 and 
 around 
 the room.
And the roses
were 
without thorns.

And no devil stalked flocks.
And no man meant harm.

And the clocks
rocking
in their hammocks
silent
and
still

infinitely 
swooned.
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