J. A. Bernstein

WATERCRESS   I. The clean and narrow white tents of the Farmer’s Market along Arizona burden the senses: the flow of bright colors...
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R. Riekki

I’m smelly— / brain full of spies, garlic in my asshole. I’m a cork, / a forty-foot pole. I’m a poet, which means I’m Spock / without the intelligence.

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