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A BORDER IMarck L. Beggs-Uema A waU stands, separating what we love from what we hate, the graffiti of angels scratched over the pig-latin of each blatant mouth. It is not a waU you could peer over. It is a waU I cannot even see in my wishing dreams. And so it is a mauve wall leaning casuaUy back into a grove of apricot trees. I know a thin man with a womb bloating violently into his ribs. The xiphoid process of love. Somewhere, Gabriel toots Beethoven, the quartets, Uke strings whipping across our soreful ears. I am saddened by this graceful place. I become a root, budgeless and thirsty. The Missouri Review ยท 75 ...


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