There's a poem out there. A poem called Objection, Warning, Acceptance. A fine little work, in a fine little journal that comes out right before the trees begin to bud. That publication? Orson's Review. Its issues have a crisp, crumb coating. Wait...that's terrible. How does an online journal have a crumb coating? I mean, the crisp is fine. I wouldn't direct any living actor in Shakespeare this way. This is not the finest French champagne...I'll be in my trailer.
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