Current Issue About Editorial Note Archives Submitting Links		Peter Macrow Garcia Lorca 1926 I looked into your eyes when I was a boy and good. But now I want to marry! Just imagine! a yellow wind to lift your skirt, your gypsy hair a nest of crystal across the black bull skin of night - the dead moon - my paper mouth - your scarlet laugh.   Sorry Yeah, bad habit, but neat trick, treading on people's toes behind their backs. Next Poem
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