Year's Best Fantasy and Horror, R.I.P. I grew up on this series. Each year I bought the new collection, scoured used book stores for past years; I discovered writers through them—they were the reprint market to which all short stories and poems aspired. They were a field guide as well as a gathering of flowers. And I am not, not pleased to see them go.
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- 1: I specialize in opera myself
- 2: Can't I take my own binoculars out?
- 3: And those who can remember when the night sky was a tapestry
- 4: Plates will shift and the earth will groan
- 5: Look into that smoldering building's bombed-out fog until it finally lifts
- 6: Probably not going to leave the slightest trace in the wake when it's my turn
- 7: Distant as a dream of the cradle on this lonesome beach
- 8: It's only eight, right?
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