Charles Freeland

To Render What is Unreal Uninteresting, poem by Charles Freeland

Everyone remembers a place like that. A place he’s never been before. A moment of clarity. The swearing off of ouzo once and for all. It will no more hurt you than a hornet will. When it is looking for the overhang where its sisters are even now preparing the nursery with newspaper. And saliva.


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What the New Caledonian Said, by Charles Freeland

And maybe you are surprised by the enormity of your emotions. By your tendency to grasp at un-tuned harps. As if they were made out of some rare compound. Some exotic metal so valuable it causes an upsurge in suicide just as soon as it hits the market.


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