POETRY \.
JULIE.RITT.ER BORSA
Turn out the trees, if there are horses. If there are horses, they have on blinders. The heart inside the buck is an opera house. A coloratura still makes whatever stories. In terr.estria, o. My
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Clade Song
In the great hall of pathology
Clade Song
Telephone
Painted Bride Quarterly
Zócalo Public Square
2025 is the year of the krill. NO WAY ELSE TO GET ON THE FRONT PAGE. THE INFINITESIMAL DO KNOW THE BEST WOOD AND IT IS FERMENT, IT IS FLAKE. The KINGDOM animalia. YOURS ON THIS \DAYhour.
See.ms like sound is always reinventing itself. The sound of washing and the sound of washing being done. The sound of twigs where there is wind and the sound when there is none. The rabb.its and their tidings. Or no rabb.its, no tidings. Like a stone rising from water, it isn’t. Sound see.ms to be making itself known, despite there being a hearer who can’t hear it. \ding, ding.
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