Current Issue About Editorial Note Archives Submitting Links		Emily Renaud Without Proof You continue to drink my tea As if this day is not really happening. The olives in the fridge look at me Tempestuously red. I pretend to yawn. I consider a Max Jacob poem and You sit on top of me, chewing. Outside the sky is suspicious And damp and wants to be smaller. I pin to your back a paper Fish, its ink gills flit in the breeze. Next Poem
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