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A bunch of windows are themselves blown out.
Usually other things are blown out of windows.
This is not, technically, irony -
and some things were, in fact, blown out of those windows.
There is not much that is conceptually contradictory about it,
except that broken glass closed off Luckie Street all weekend.
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Tuesday, March 18, 2008
the big tornado
Labels:
apocalypse,
outside influences,
poem
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