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July 3, 2022


Madeleine Corley

how the license plate reads on their petinaed grey sedan peeling lacquer camped at the top of a dead end street sprung fresh with erect honeysuckle flowers at the bent elbow in Sope Creek and yes, these teenagers are definitely fucking the wind swirls leaves hummingbirds flitting to new flowers thirsty pastel thunder-heads blush lavender they can touch fullness a palpable groan in their hands set each coming spring dogs donning spider webs at the foot of a cherry tree wondering who else is howling who else is making use of the creek.