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WHEN I FIND OUT WHAT THAT MEANS, I’LL LET YOU KNOW by W. C. Perry

that our forest is inseverable, fabric and boring   Autumn arms threadbare clothing eager to be cut with scissors modeled by a swan   her job prospects are booming, humanity is cosmetic, mascara will not cling to feathers   she is an artist in the gravest sense: velvet roundtrips over the cemetery gate sans filigree   commonly known as: without decorum   a yearling in my own practices, an apple head of blood shivers from my thumb, my needle, I was only trying out embroidery on myself, fingers a lace web pattern   and when I don’t feel confident in every scrap of work, I produce worthless, leafy doodads   our coin jars repurposed from espresso tins insufficient our rent goes down and I’m fine, hungover in the garden patch.… Read More “WHEN I FIND OUT WHAT THAT MEANS, I’LL LET YOU KNOW by W. C. Perry”