At three, I thought the motor car
A badge of blithe maturity.
I took a handful, threw my toys:
They bumped against the windy cliff.
At ten, I seized the glider, used
My mind to grip the handles, jumped
And swam in wind that cast me back
To bounce upon the face of land.
My beard's a cradle for my face,
And seagulls mock my fallen mass.
The floating corpses: fishing boats.
The helicopters: seraphim
With bulging bellies, giant heads
That look like blades that chop the sky,
And frame the contrails greater beings
Emit. And somewhere, God itself
Must ride a satellite—a jet
Of gas from godly aft propels
The eye that orbits far above
The foam of taste, the crabs of touch.
"North Korea for the first time showed a visiting American a lab where it claimed to be processing uranium to make atomic weapons, something that, if true, would confirm that it is using a different key ingredient than the one it agreed to stop using under a deal with the U.S. and other countries. "
—EVAN RAMSTAD, The Wall Street Journal, NOVEMBER 21, 2010, 2:55 A.M. ET
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