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Jackalope Something must have mothered me, Rare as I am, shy of light as I am. When evening comes — purple cleft and plow, Stain of night birds, shadow trees hobbling The far rise — I come looking for my own kind, Looking for you, jackalope. They say You're stitched from two sad animals, That you're mongrel and luminous, That your sob is so tuneful, so human It makes ...

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Published: 1 year, 2 months ago (Mon, 19 May 2008 08:19:24 PDT); 2028 bytes
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