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Update 2003

Winter, don’t ever be over.


the manatee is found in shallow slow moving rivers


The dead shuffled forward in their camps


I returned to a city too busy


Even when

After A Self-Portrait by Francis Picabia

A french fry sticks its tongue out at you

Poetic Alliances

Conversation about New York’s poetry scene generally drifts in romantic directions, either to the lost years when poets lived within walking distance of one another, met on street corners, converged for readings in apartments and bars, or to the difficult future, when gentrification and post-modernity decentralize and permanently scatter a movement-less poet community. Perhaps these narratives stem from legitimate concerns.


The Brooklyn Rail

FEB 2008

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