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Back into the body all the lightning goes
back into the body. Up through the crown
of the skull and round again like the Whip-It. . .
It rained every day.
Cairo was rib-dry, glass-eye-dry
but every night in my dreams we drowned.
My skin sack was taken to the Hall of Pictures
in the Capitol. My Zipps seemed made
to slide across the marble floor.
Obama staffers launder their culpability in Yemen.
Former politicians tap a new wellspring of American attention.
On Robert Glück and the New Narrative’s lost utopia.