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ISSN: 1941-4137 |
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Volume Four Issue Two |
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October Burning We douse oak limbs with kerosene, accelerant we call it, though not one of us is in a hurry. They blaze, orange sparks pop and squiggle like schools of minnows, like stars-then the glowing, the log a breathing lung exhaling smoke sweet as all the souls we fear we've lost. I pass the guitar, drink wine from the bottle and make my way to the shadows, wanting to sing something into the immense blue ear of the night. |
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