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Back into the body all the lightning goes
back into the body. Up through the crown
of the skull and round again like the Whip-It. . .
we are not scaling we are hunters in this drape called body we have / hardened our old selves pricked peeled consumed . . .
As “a stone in love” with falling, “I wound the water’s face”
Then wear the mask of water all the way. . .
Frida Kahlo meets with Andre Breton in Paris, and things go downhill.
On bids to reform blood donation policy for men who have sex with men.
Canada’s lucrative animation industry is hollowing out an art form