Watching the Combines Daril Bentley

Watching the Combines and Other Poems by Daril Bentley

Darkroom The past would seem to exist beneath a red light behind a door seldom opened save to revisit photographs hung unclaimed aaaaaaaaon a drying line in the long, narrow darkroom of the mind. Comically out of fashion and curled and yellowed, the images might or might not make their way aaaaaaaainto an album like one of those in an attic gathering dust. Flip to one of its pages—note the transparent tape upper left; thumb smudge lower right. aaaaaaaaFaces go...

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