A city / cannot travel to another city, a city cannot visit / any city but itself, and in its sadness it gives / away a great door in the air. Well / a city cannot except for Paris, who puts / on a hat styled with pigeon wings and walks / through the streets of another city and will not / even see the sights, too full she is of the sights / already.
- Patricia Lockwood, “The Arch,” in the latest issue of Poetry.
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