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1913issue6online

134 An Atmosphere of Supreme Lucidity The heat here is unparalleled barely discernible. When heat rises we’re stroked into a dark watercolor angled to defeat. Such a surface pressure sketched into a limitation. A song perhaps gently flawed represents a populace. What is tender, unhurried. Recover a ravished ground as though pierced with arrow, bullet, alarm. Only the signs of collateral damage, the thaw of counterparts. I’m holding the last fiber in a sprig of novocain. -Matthew Gagnon

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