Alyssa adjusts her jacket; tweed, tiehole, fresh out of normal bad-childhood nowhere, ready to differentiate between graduate programs whichoffer training -- paid for -- and those which, essentially making you an employee of the university -- stipend you, more or less, from here throughend of time, hoisted around the wet trees and the green-gray-bluewhich knocks… Continue reading poem: incredible retelling of an otherwise normal saturday
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i could be bound in a nutshell and count it as infinite space if not for these bad dreams
the last pavilion 