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Words Without Borders is one of the inaugural Whiting Literary Magazine Prize winners!
from the October 2004 issue


It was simple
it was evening
it was October, Beretta, mon amour.
You didn't even realize
how I transmute from a mole, hounded
through galleries of all sorts
(oh, where did the euglena viridis about which
I dreamed so much run to!)
an astrology full of marrow
and without regrets.
It was evening.
I was diaphanous.
Fire grass.
While steaming amid the zodiac
it was so much October
and so much evening,
Beretta, mon amour . . .

It was.

Read more from the October 2004 issue
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