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  • By Luke Briner


May I speak to myself now as to that

Astrayéd spouse whose anguished, homesick heart

Crashed ‘gainst his visage artful and complex

As ruthless curls of the Ogygian blue

Beat down upon the crags, with salty mist

Commingling with his every bygone tear.

Poor vagabond, is that the marriage left

To you? I urge you, get you up, and go—

Return to your dear Ithaca, who, sat

Before the loom, weaves divers shrouds of Love. Luke Briner was raised in New York and is currently a Senior at St. John's College, Annapolis. He hopes to pursue a career in philosophy and writing after graduating.


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