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On the Edge of Stone-Mountain

by on Jan 4, 2017 in Poetry | 0 comments

pyrus communis If cultivated to sweeten their tongue, they grow us staked or caged, hairless twigs and leaves, starred and starved core, lengthening and ripening fruit proof we would become whatever they required. If our skin split with abscess, dripped juice or grit, they pinched, pain...

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Entrance

by on Jun 2, 2015 in Poetry | 0 comments

We were looking for mold, but found the door. I didn’t want to open it. You didn’t want to open it, so it opened itself for us. When I looked in I saw blue-green soft, organ-like shapes growing from the walls, a footpath that curved into darkness. The room breathed, gill-like and I swore...

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