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Editor back-issues, poetry

Let us lie underneath a coffee stained sky blend the brown of our skin with the brown of the earth. Moist, fertilized, this is a reincarnation. So that’s the poem, what do you think?  He asks with half rhymes dangling from his tobacco tinted tongue. I shrug and frown that’s how New Yorkers respond. Feels like he wrote this before, serenaded…

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