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It's quarter to three. . .No one in the place but youand me and the voice
of a man singinghis lonely way through a song. . .He's right. Something's wrong.
On the radioyou sing that Arlen-Mercermasterpiece and then
we hear you listento the silence after welisten to you sing. -- DL
Posted by The Best American Poetry on December 12, 2008 at 12:01 AM in Music | Permalink
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Delicious, especially that last stanza!
Rachel Barenblat |
December 12, 2008 at 04:55 PM
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