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If John Waters Hung Out in Reston He’d live in our townhouse, with the filthiest bathroom alive— a rust hole in the sink so big...
Minute shards of glass settle upon the bar counter like finely milled powder The barkeep smiles at no one in particular as if born an automaton No warmth...
an angel fell asleep on my shoulder last evening, in the train car aswarm with humans who had tumbled in from the city, some drunken with...
I never grew out of cookies and milk I grew in. Someone reflective, not out loud. Even behind the smoke, I saw wheels turn and wondered where had you gone?   Perhaps...
Doors locked, we hide the keys Jeans frayed across the knees On our backs beneath the stars Basking in an autumn breeze   She spies Polaris, points out...