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Poem: Gone 

February flakes its tarry roof
in a burning blizzard of shingle
ash, singed pages, and
melted tools for calculating
some infinite amount that cannot
be made to cover the cost of living.

This is what life becomes:
business. The active rush from
rise, like a steep pitched attic
touching the lawless sky
to fall as smoke-sallow leaves
to the ground, where everything
comes to lie.

  • February flakes its tarry roof in a burning blizzard of shingle ash

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Tue., Dec. 6, 7:15 p.m. and Wed., Dec. 7, 7:15 p.m. — Set against the backdrop of post-war Britain, John Osborneʼs modern classic conjures...

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