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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. . .
Vegetable fuchsia but faded, gilt
gone bad from its season in Hell. Plucked up
with dirt on its cheek, petrified
as a rose shut. . .
Blk is not a country, but I live there
Where even the youngest call you baby.
Coronavirus and the lifestyles of the professional-managerial class.
Deemed ”essential,” grocery store workers are fighting to be treated as such.
Southern churches and the myth of redemptive Depressions