There was an Old Person of Philæ,
Whose conduct was scroobious and wily;
He rushed up a Palm,
When the weather was calm,
And observed all the ruins of Philæ.
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He only employs his passion who can make no use of his reason.
by Rachel McKibbens1.
Santa Ana, California,
3 a.m. in my cousin’s basement,
lights out, television volume spun low.
We are huddled around the screen,
a small congregation of forgotten children,