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  Joan Fleming

yawning moon sings a song of less

 What does it mean to love? I ask the Grandmother. She says, It is taking the self out of the self and smudging the gold from the morning. // Well, here we have lilac and grey-green and red dust and rivulets. We have grey and white and black. But no gold, and no morning.
                – from Hot Perpetual Half-Light Winter 
                   forthcoming with Cordite Books

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  • Home
  • Hot Perpetual Half-Light Winter
  • Ethnopoetics
  • Failed Love Poems
  • The Same as Yes
  • Essays and Criticism
  • Poems
  • Publications