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..:: CONTENTS ::..
   Volume XI, Issue I

..:: POETRY ::..


..:: PROSE ::..

..:: ETC ::..
   Contributor's Notes

..:: ARCHIVES ::..
   Volume I, Issue I
   Volume I, Issue II
   Volume II, Issue I
   Volume II, Issue II
   Volume III, Issue I
   Volume III, Issue II
   Volume IV, Issue I
   Volume IV, Issue II
   Volume V, Issue I
   Volume V, Issue II
   Volume VI, Issue I
   Volume VI, Issue II
   Volume VII, Issue I
   Volume VII, Issue II
   Volume VIII, Issue I
   Volume VIII, Issue II
   Volume IX, Issue I
   Volume IX, Issue II
   Volume X, Issue I
   Volume X, Issue II

 
Poetry


Broth me noisy
Samantha Bares

 

Broth me noisy. I wish to boil my urges off, to slip in a way that infers transaction. Flotsam on the brain, you know—like I'm my own patsy. Gotta rich sense of justice, gotta thick tongue of brimstone. Don't ribald the sick in me, piebald me silly. Waif my city, its paths trembling afresh. Through the window, nothing on the walls; in my garden, no seeds. One plucky drupe on the quick, and I'll never pinch myself to truth again.

 

 

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