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Wednesday, April 02, 2008


It was a golden age
of lead. Prospectors
striking lucky

in the distant mines
would try
to look pleased.

Leadsmiths resigned
themselves to the mild

of ages to come
at their leaden displays,
until at last

the lead in the pots
and pipes leaked
into our brains

and we became
settled and heavy;
a background

against which
our showier children,
turning to copper

and bronze,
could not but
brilliantly shine,

an unwitting homage
we took as our due,

receding into
the long
leaden night.

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