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Click hereA hummingbird flies
from garden phlox
into a throat
so slick, so deep,
so blue, so stark
at the center... The swallow
the great sky makes
seems to surprise
the black cat’s eyes,
shadow-dark,
like creosote.
Whose throat is that?
A thing that size,
that it could eat
— this gets the cat —
meals so petite,
fill up, digest,
and take its rest
or go to sleep
where eyes can’t follow...
The cat’s jaw shakes.
and dont try to wolf them down, TK U MLJ L NV
This poem was mentioned in the Archival Review thread, in a picking through Lit's archive of over 37,000 poems.
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