Poetry
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Can’t you let the film spool unseen on the stained floor? Its frames forever static as my fingers resplice our hands. Let my battalions of
Can’t you let the film spool unseen on the stained floor? Its frames forever static as my fingers resplice our hands. Let my battalions of
An independent literary magazine for contemporary fiction, thought, and opinion about popular culture, society, and everything on the periphery.
