Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
Poems - 1. November in the Square
The color was of fogged windows and steel,
Or a mercury lake, across which swam
Ripples of a silent V, gliding southward
And skyward like fluttering playbills
Expunged from a theatre archway, advertising to the snow
A matinee of The Dying Swan this Wednesday at noon, a time
For girls with cigarettes to wait at the Café Rusticana,
The small orange lights of their mouths the closest thing
To stars beneath such a sky. And yet this host
Recognizes nothing that is there: the color
That din of water
Cut into streaks by wings and a knobbed head
Reckless with wild, unthinking joy.
- 2
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
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