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..:: CONTENTS
::..
Volume X, 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
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Untitled
Simon Perchik
You reach for lullabies, left over
and the slow crawl half whispers
half where your lips ache, float
the way this empty cup still wobbles
will break apart, overloaded
disguised as two steps closer and alone
then fill your arms with its darkness
seeping through, breathing out
not yet an embrace, not yet the mouth
where your fingers end, surrounded
by more and more dirt, a small room
here, there, there, not yet asleep.
//
Advance //
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