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The book demands our perfection. It offers no defense of our present behavior and seems to say that survival is indeed possible without all this aggressive earthly grossness.
By Mike MathersMarch 1976From the trees beside me / a hawk emerges, / falling horizontally / toward Bradley Falls.
— from “1.”
By Wayne HallFebruary 1976It slips through us / a parade of delicate / dead women that carry / the sun in the August sky
— from “End of Summer”
By Douglas HallFebruary 1976alone. / the harsh beauty. / salt waves / strike the sandward grain. / the palm-leaf / totters at the edge
By Joe BlankenshipFebruary 1976One cant love without fear of exposing / tender parts to pain, nor can one leave / love to feeling incomplete, to make sense / from pain, never-ending, like glare.
By Richard WilliamsFebruary 1976Personal, political, provocative writing delivered to your doorstep every month—without a single ad.
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