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its ragged rows of splendid silhouetted shadows                   on the outskirts of madness, the priests and cops                   taking their shots of espresso, young lovers zooming   on the backs of motorcycles, rich kids and hustlers and drug dealers and dead dogs stalking tourists, the slut mother and daughter duo shaking their torsos in tight pants outside magazine stands passing down hand-me-down                        filthy traditions from generation to generation; whole cosmopolitans                   of women demurely and politely stuffed into shoe shops trying                    to idealistically and romantically live up, look good   for their men beneath ancient looming mafioso mountains the young stud policemen searching for their mistresses while a tired bride and groom casually call it a day                     shuffling down decayed decadent drained cobblestone                   and disappearing to meet their destination and fate                   of stray runaways and gypsies and strolling violinists   somewhere out at sea horrible vaudevillian slapstick comedians in rich foreign languages and crooning asians belt caruso in sequined suits for the sad and weather-beaten old sicilians                     who seem unimpressed and rather be dreaming                   in their barber chairs, sports column, or bosoms of young girls                   who have grown up and turned out to become beautiful young ladies   you took ferries in and out of cities, countries just to try and find a way to be                    feeling opaque, obscurely out of place                  raped behind the fossils of rustling, anonymous, time-stained                  curtains where down-in-the-dump street urchins and wicked old women   literally stoned you with the poverty-stricken customs and traditions of acquired violence and venom disguised as wisdom                               back to bridges and ipswitch shellfish                   and milk trucks and newspaper trucks                   and the ripe blushing field hockey girls    with a tough  even slutty  side to them                     they’re calling for tornadoes                   out in providence, rhode island                   not to worry though just potential member used to remember the names of states by their shapes their capitals seemed so much greater                      rest your head                    in the lap of                     lapis-luzi lake

Profile for Burner Magazine

Burner Magazine, issue 01 (September 2010)  

The inaugural issue of Burner Magazine, which aims to take the boring out of the literary and arts scenes.

Burner Magazine, issue 01 (September 2010)  

The inaugural issue of Burner Magazine, which aims to take the boring out of the literary and arts scenes.

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