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Walking the Dog I
Tonight, on 66th street, there is an
immenseness and twinkling which
moves and unwinds so irreverently
that the moon records our
reflecting malady, as we its milkglow.
The sky howls in invisible electric ink
as the lazy, pale city bus passes and
champagne people dine across the street
like Nazis marching in columns
over menorah mountains
finding novel ground
which can only be birthed
in big cities or soulless murderers.
I hear a man on a cell phone saying
we all have computer errors waiting
for us when we get home. |
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Michael is a doctor of medicine and an associate professor in New York City. He grew up on Long Island and graduated from Brandeis University. His poetry can be found in The Oak, Salzburg Review, The Blotter, WestWard Quarterly, Pegasus and many others. He received honorable mention in Skyline Magazines Summer Poetry Contest 2007 and has been nominated for the 2008 Pushcart Prize. |
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Date of Publication: 11 Dec 2007 |
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