Vol. I Issue 1
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The State By Jennifer Moxley
However much we wish it so, everything does not change in a moment. The sedative present, tugging, sucking, and many-voiced, timelessly freights the mind. There will be no more marking of days. Under your right arm, a memory crutch, under your left, the future, a failure kicked out upon waking. But as punishment you can still dream. A nursing infant, the birds you have killed, a hill so steep your ascent of it leaves your lover struggling beneath you. Each night in houses you can never return to you leave your promise behind.
Copyright © Jennifer Moxley
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