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D A R B Y P R I C E
Beloit Poetry Journal
We woke up this morning, each of us,
a stinging in our right hands.
The flesh welled up in a red curving line
as if a brand had been pressed
to our skin as we slept
...
just last week the river turned red
got a rust look and a crowbar flavor
someone told an uneasy joke that ended with
the good news is, she was covered in crabs
...
PANK
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