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This poem is from the Winter 2012 issue of The Antioch Review.


by Angie Hogan

Two hands on
one pedestal, free-

standing, I curl in
on myself, tail

scorpioned. Your comparison
then, the four‑legged clown,

carries his own limp
appendages in a basketed

balloon. If this turns out
to be more than less

than a dream, do you
try to wipe the acrobat’s

thick black do not pass
lines from the basin

of my eyes? A mime’s dart
sinks you like bait.

And svelte feet still,
negotiating rope’s void.

Then I do not need forgiveness.
I have had my fevered revenge.

Angie Renee Hogan

Angie Hogan’s poems have appeared or are forthcoming in The Hudson Review, The Journal, Ploughshares, Quarterly West, Subtropics, The Threepenny Review, and Western Humanities Review, among other journals. She lives near Charlottesville and works in the acquisitions department at the University of Virginia Press.




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