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Bath
Somnambulist
Violent Light
I still find myself stopping in the street, stunned by how low the clouds hang on this island.
A Fair Chunk of Our Time Was Spent Pacing and Sighing
Stone
They’re Making Video Poems About the 1990s
Evensong
Feedback Loops
The photograph of my mom refuses to leave the auditorium. We jiggle the cords, but she’s still there, twenty feet tall and gazing at the water.
The Faces of His Subjects Melt in the Rain
Gaps and Threads