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CROWS, too, have a means of purring. Here is what they do.
They shuffle a deck of cards in their smoking guts.
I shall go into the earth, my child, though my path be blocked
With rocks the size of houses, with gymnasium-sized rocks.
Things subject to mere fashion will be ignored at the Final Judgment.
You will not be made to answer for your morality.
When people walk around naked, they all look like people I know.
My tutor taught me long ago that bodies are all the same.
“The male is caught in a cleft stick.” Better write thát one down.
Love remains sensual, though designed for seraphic;—
And even Madrid, gone to hell and back, can only be trusted
To be chaste insofar as it is consonant with his pride.
Anthony Madrid lives in Chicago. His poems have appeared in Best American Poetry 2013, BODY, Fence, Lana Turner, LIT, and Poetry. His first book is called I Am Your Slave Now Do What I Say.
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in your carpeted office you lay my life down / and say open up to that small room in my sternum.
In his new book, the former Fed chair cuts through economic orthodoxy on central banking. But he fails to reckon deeply with its political consequences.