There is an essay on the language of the dying. The dying sometimes speak of themselves in the third person. I was not speaking that way. I said: I am bleeding. I am going to bleed to death. And I will be lucky if I die before he returns.Give me my Scallop shell of quiet.You know, they did not print the whole of the Indian song in the subway. Only a few lines. But I know the poem.'It's off in the distance. It came into the room. It's here in the circle.'I know the poem.She knows the poem.
-Susanna Moore
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