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Poems and Flash from Our First Issue

Samuel J Fox

Downpour for weeks. It seemed things were growing,

trees engulfed by luminescent bulbs, sprouting like promises.

All month was the First. You had me foolhardy, flagrantly 

disregarding the omens: the saturated muddy ground, sinkholes

in the wooden floorboards, the rusty bicycles you promised to ride.

I was drowning and neither of us were any good at swimming.

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