Poetry
Winter 1962
Eve’s Daughters
The old masters of subordination, were they right? Superior by testicle to this weak vessel with plentiful hair? When Nora got liberated, where did she go, you want to know. […]
Poetry
Winter 1962
Speed-Up
When the Amster amster damdamdamians Built spits to roast Indian, it was only A moment ago, an afternoon nap in the day of time, A flick of the lid in […]