Arabic
Atlantic, The, July, 2006 by Alexander Nemser
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Each mark a motion caught in ink, a dancer’s Slow kick, a series of bowing waves, the path Of spilt salt—sharp Js sloping up and Is Like silhouettes of men or minarets Seen miles ahead. Sometimes a number I Could recognize: the year, a price for dates Or Dexedrine; the street-side signs defiant As captives; every book impenetrable.
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