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To M.W.
by Gabriella Garofalo A motionless warm airOld haggards stuck in food and ailmentsFlyers taped on the light poles, showing mislaid kitten-Your die hard habits, October, you old maverickDon’t we know your elegant gaslightingHas form and attitude, much to the chagrin of the waves Who never look smartHard as they tryOf a light you keep stalking…