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a boy I know teaches me how to noodle for catfish I tell him that his face is an octopus, just like the one nursing my ankle, except like hell he would ever find someone to make out with. Not even an ankle would want to get near a face like his except to kick…


A Cranberry Pops In Central Wisconsin In Kentucky, I hold my wrist with one hand and my rifle in the other. It’s a short walk to wherever I’m going but I never know when I’m there. The sun points downward and beats me to a pulp-less version of selfhood. A bird sings because it wants…


Eastside Because it’s June and there’s nothing better to do, we go to the strip mall at the edge of the city. Someone’s mother drives us; it isn’t mine. These girls—they’ve got hair blaring red as a siren; no curfews, boyfriends and rumours going all the way. I’m fourteen and buttoned in a blue floral…

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