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Jennifer Merrifield

Postscript

Barefoot under a borrowed poncho, we touch

(misused synapse to misused synapse)


but wonder where are the fucking marshmallows?

Answering the Whistle, the Glare

16 March 2007
Vol. 7, No. 1
poetry

The body: a series of sanctuaries, an archipelago


of temples clung to the rock facade of hill or bone.

Dusk Approaching the Bridge Between

13 March 2007
Vol. 7, No. 1
poetry

We work in a winter of soon & make do

while we wait for your wife to bring fruit & deli sandwiches

to prove connections best, maintained.

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