AUBADE Magda Andrews-Hoke Casually, a sleep undoes it. The limited, lackluster premonition of my days parts its dusty waves. I wake from drowning. It is morning. Lowering like...
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POULENC’S ‘GLORIA’ Magda Andrews-Hoke “While writing [the Gloria] I had in mind
those Crozzoli frescoes with angels sticking out their tongues, and also some solemn-looking Benedictine monks...
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POETRY BEACH HAVEN, NEW JERSEY Magda Andrews-Hoke I’m afraid of who it is that made these things. The surf repeatedly blasting the sand to waste, the weird slide of...
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