Rayme
Aunt Joanne didn’t recognize me, her skin soaked in booze and cured with cigarette smoke, her...
Read MorePosted by Bob Pajich | Apr 3, 2012 | Poetry
Aunt Joanne didn’t recognize me, her skin soaked in booze and cured with cigarette smoke, her...
Read MorePosted by Bob Pajich | Apr 3, 2012 | Poetry
He is the ant and I’m the parasitic cow mite, domesticated by ants. Only dry on milk they clip off...
Read MorePosted by Bob Pajich | Apr 3, 2012 | Poetry
I could never slide my hands between the dimensions and feel around for cancer like those strange...
Read MorePosted by Bob Pajich | Apr 3, 2012 | Poetry
The old Italian touched my lover’s arm in front of the church on Liberty and...
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