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Poetry
Ephraim Gast
It’s a pottery and clay day.
Aren’t we all feeling the thickness of the ether?
Yes but everyone still recoils and waters their very own laurels.

Oh, look: that topsoil is blowing off!
Now old Knave and young Lark can see...

Poetry
Peter O’Neill
An old cleaning lady, bowed down by years of service, approaches
The church under the weight of a full bucket of water, passes
The fonts, vulva like, where the original water you wear resides,
Opens a blue door promising mystery and incense...