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I’m walking up
what is now Pushkinskaya—
walking up from the station
at Okhotny Ryad—
Let me had been
the star watching that night
the rain battering the building
like a child yelling More!
We just have to want to and to think hard about it and then we can lift over the wheat fields and fuzzy orange cattle, one. . .
On the disruptors who didn’t change anything.
Desire and shame in the fiction of Garth Greenwell.
Anna Wiener infiltrates the panopticon.