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Don McKay

Moon, night after night rehearsing shades of pause and spill, sifting into reed beds, silvering the fine hairs of your arms, making rhythm out of light and nothing, making months. What have I ever made of life or it of me? — Don McKay, from “Lift,” Angular Unconformity: Collected Poems 1970-2014 (Icehouse Poetry, 2014)

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Jack Kerouac

The silence is so intense that you can hear your own blood roar in your ears but louder than that by far is the mysterious roar which I always identify with the roaring of the diamond wisdom, the mysterious roar of silence itself, which is a great Shhhh reminding you of something you’ve seemed to… Continue reading Jack Kerouac

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