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What if in the final minutes of your heavying
the landing strip kept lying
into the air the way a white
backs away in anger when you approach with the directions you've been asked?
—Ed Roberson, “The Aerialist Narratives”
The fate of the nation is foretold in the arcs of birds, in the flight patterns of the ruling class, in the strip of runway hard to see in the fog. Only through the scrutiny of all such lines will our fates grow clear.
—Joseph Donahue, “Metaphysical Shivers: Reading Ed Roberson”