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If grass explains what is invisible
beneath it, each blade in shorthand
spells a corresponding channel
cut, continuing below
the dirt’s horizon, and is no grave.
The muscles underground
exceed their animals, extruding
tunneled wakes. As phosphenes flare
beyond the retina’s range
yet wear its colors. As pygmy mice
that nightly set a pebble wall
to seal their burrow’s entrance.
The field’s grass phalanx
quivers as it stays
itself against all shadow, feather,
breeze, fur, shifting
surface light, expanse, each flimsy
arrow leveled at indifference.
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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.