the return

Editor back-issues, poetry

Loneliness rests in the nook of Eve’s arm. It is the crease opposing our elbow, the indentation which evaporates before our covered identifiers. Pupils are cloaked and uncloaked for amusements sake, like gigantic lustrous holy movie screens; palettes of projected immortality. The red velvet curtain ruffles up, momentarily faking existence before unfurling with smooth graceful class.   Loneliness is a…

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