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Frank O’Hara

Serenade Starlings are singing like glass breaking and falling into a rather vulgar plate. Somewhere a nightingale waits for each of us, crying its heart out.          Oh I don’t know, say, say it’s your fingernails scratching down my neck with a fragile roar.                                 No, it’s starlings singing, simply starlings singing. And all around… Continue reading Frank O’Hara

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