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Calumet


I was working up a list of the great winter cities
and sipping soda water from a crystal glass
when from the next room I heard a radio, or rather
two radios, tuned to separate channels, or perhaps
one radio and one recording of that same radio,
or another radio, say, or two recordings of a radio.

Then, setting down my pencil, I could discern,
through the double churn of voices, more subtle
instances: the relieved pop of soap bubbles
in a basin or the sound of a pipe being sparked
then drawn on in a place that pleasure has missed,
but where there is release, load then overload.