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Magritte
My sister has a very accurate, if often baffling, memory. She emailed me today this link, saying “I remember vividly sitting on the subway with you as you read this, back in the balmy summer of 2001.” It is true, it was balmy, and we were taking the train to Coney Island. Though why I was reading the Daily News is a question lost to time.
Regardless, In the Annals of Headline Poetry, “Arm Lost In Farm Horror” really is evocative, no? I guess that would stick with you.
Somebody’s house always burns at Christmas.
There is no way to not sound braggy about this but that short piece that ran on Metazen has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize and I’m a bit stunned and humbled (stumbled?) so there you go.