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Not Cancelled Yet Some honorary day if I play my cards right I might be a postage stamp but I wonβt be there to lick me and licking is what I liked, in tasty anticipation of the long dark slither from the mailbox, from box to pouch to hand to bag to box to slot to hand: that box is best whose lid slams open as well as shut, admitting a parcel of daylight, the green top of a tree, and a flickering of fingers, letting go.
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Anthony Holden (Poems That Make Grown Men Cry: 100 Men on the Words That Move Them)