Glissade

Because he was different, the bus conductor let a lofty hope bud within him, a hope too high for his type: love.

Little Inhabitants The poet wakes in the middle of the night to find that his room, Barely enough for his lean body, is a megacity for the little Inhabitants. Roaches are going and coming, each one with A different sense of urgency, some slow as clumps of dew, Others civil servants in love with the …

And when Father was furious, the entire house suffered. He banged and shouted.

Had I become a roaming syringe deployed by the federal government to inject pregnancies?

ISSUES

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