Poetry of Issue #1
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Bruised Hyacinth
Next door,
The silhouette of a shadow
Joan of Arc moves in next door.
The voices in her head
The sky falls from the periphery.
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Plaintive On Tuesdays I taste the barren, impolite paste of the plaintiff. The mock hero who gets all the sympathy. The whole enchillada starts with him: Alpha. Omega. Big fuckin' deal. Get a ticket 'n take a seat. Watch the full scope of your sterile crusade. Fold the indigo bunting into teeny, tiny squares.
You haven't a sixpenth's chance in hell |
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