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Editorial Note




Poems by Wanda O'Connor


In early morning

I lift my glass to the moon, try to see through it
I think it's east,
but the early morning fog has not yet cleared
I am the only human alive
and I can do anything
no one knows I am here
planning for things
waiting for things
as I walk on the surface of skin


dissecting the goods

there is an antidote
in the melancholy of a seed
the effect of rising
or a finale
the statements we make
or suffer through

we eat stones, fish
for compliments
eat the fish we kill


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