Her voice a velvet backdrop
to mood-thirsty sex or scrubbing
bathroom tiles. A giddy All of Me
gives way to Strange Fruit, which turns
to gauze we mostly ignore
over chorizo-stuffed quail, little spoons
teeming with sorbet, talk of wax-jobs,
committee snafus. For all I ever hear,
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Audubon Diptych
By Matt Donovan
I. Wherein the Swallows Instruct Us on Pleasure Because they daubed with poppy sap the stricken eyes of their young & because each thin body, it was believed, contained a […]
Garden of the Fugitives
By Matt Donovan
At night, in the fish-light of the moon, the dead wear our white shirts To stay warm, and litter the fields. We pick them up in the mornings, dewy pieces […]
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