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My friend, who lost her husband
twice, first in death
and then in betrayal, orders
the pinot noir.
opens inside of you. First fissure, then split, then spread: this body
unfurling thick and heavy-headed as a peony, as. . .
First, we’re skinny-dipping,
Sam & I, in a pond in Tennessee,
which is his idea, I should say,
Martin Eden rails against the cult of individualism.
Worker dissent brews at an iconic New York bookstore.
On providing therapy for agents of state violence.