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Tim MacGabhann ~ Three Poems • Bareknuckle Poet
Nausicaa 1. His sightline snaggled with marl Ulíses woke from his out-cold somersault through salt buffets, head pillowed on wavemelt, his old nets matted about him in a nylon kilt. An hour of raw, hollered vowels over having to unpick that oakum before he set his nails to the task, wore their edges dull and more »