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Christopher Apfelbach


My idea of paradise
is a university at dusk,
late May, utterly alone.

No angels necessary—
just the clouds of insects
whirring around like electrons,

and no heavenly light, either,
unless it was that kind that only
comes from a very old streetlamp
filtering through oak leaves.

Never mind, for now,
that those Corinthian columns
are not fashioned from cirrus,

or that the low-watt hum
of the generators does not really
resemble a celestial choir.

[...] Read more

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