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FOUR WAY REVIEW

DEAR MISS GONE by Ben Purkert

Wednesday, 19 October 2016 by Ben Purkert

I’m hardly alone—
like most men, I’ll gaze

at anything to avoid looking
inward. Like a stream
reflects what surrounds
but never the face of

itself. I mean force, I mean—
forget it. Let’s cast ourselves
into a pond: a still surface
standing forever without

a break. Let’s freeze at
the tipping point when you
leave me, here in the heart
of this song. At least

metaphors have my back;
at least the swallows outside
my window sound really into
each other. I hope they fly

so far south, they don’t
remember a thing.

 

Ben PurkertFour Way ReviewMiss Gone
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  • Published in Issue 10, Poetry
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