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New Muses for a Posthuman Age
Late last year I wrote a 10 sonnet sequence entitled New Muses for a Posthuman Age, the idea being to update the goddesses and answer...
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The Gilded Moth and the Iron Maw
Whisper, whisper—soft-hand hush,
paper-gold lips coil promises,
ribbons spun from the marrow of knowing men.
Tongues flicker in the ear of the street,
warm, wet, lulling—
all is well,...
