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April 2013, vol 9, no 1

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Bruce Ross


One wonders, if metaphor is at the heart of poetry, why this is. Whether our very thought is metaphor. Whether our perception strings together, like a DNA strand, as we go. Whether the very being of these metaphors that come to us is a metaphor. On this tropical preserve the snuffling in the dry brush beside the path perhaps.

the Mayan glyph
remembered for its pointed ears
island armadillo