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By T. Zachary Cotler

Night dogs in the city

sound their skulls

like conch horns. We

forget each other's words

from phone to satellite to phone

calls last year. By now, maybe

voices in the Oort

Cloud, light-seconds apart,

keep on in conversation

if an Oortshell sounds them back Earthshells do the ocean.

Stickman End of Poem

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