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Poems
My sheep was the dragon
and my dragon the sheep. Neither was happy in the year he was born. The detective walked the edge of parkway, the gold button on his lapel flaming in the sun, and nothing was there. The letters were neat and careful, though they misspelled Zionism. The swastikas were balanced and well shaped. The glass walls of the childrens classroom were blotted with those red and black marks and the sun came mottled through the paper wed taped to cover. The teacher told them Someone has damaged the classroom and the synagogue, her words slow and tensely neutral. So graffito should evolve to this. And we to herebrain numb, heart racing, waiting for an oriental or Talmudic miracle. This article originally appeared in The New Criterion, Volume 14 February 1996, on page 38 Copyright © 2013 The New Criterion | www.newcriterion.com http://www.newcriterion.com/articles.cfm/vandalism-baumel-3661
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Poet George Green reads from his award-winning Lord Byron's Foot
Celebration of the Life of Robert H. Bork, 1927–2012
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