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real words

…everything will happen if you wait - even love, even hope and comfort, even in that far hour on this earth when something, just the wind perhaps in branches, will say your name with only wild joy from  For One Who Goes Alone , Joseph Fasano Poetry doesn't move me, most days. Prose tugs at my heart strings in ways that poetry's stiff demands often obscure. In both, my patience is nonexistent for words of conjecture rather than experience. Give me Willa Cather with her cold hard high desert and prairie winds, John Steinbeck with his bestowed and chosen agonies, Audre Lorde as sister and outsider. Prose and poetry from their bodies, from their hearts. Sometimes poets present themselves, and there they are with sentences that create breathing space and grace, that take away the life-draining demands of people and systems, poets who have experienced or just feel the grievous and sublime of life. They might be the 5 year old near me who grieves that life should always be more beauti

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