Click on each poem to continue to the next.

This issue features 10 pages.

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Shame is a spilled wine rubbed into flesh. 
Here is a contest of bettering.
Of omniscient things.
Or You are nothing without—
leung_2.html
Forgive me if I am not ecstatic.
My success in the center of a flower. 
One gaze reigns over me.
Plum body bent to white.
leung_2.html