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ISSUE:  Summer 2010
In a stairwell, several stories above the ground, a man raises his balled fists up against his chest in an offensive posture. A couple of feet away, cornered, is a young boy, his arms up defensively, eyes cast down, looking at the man's fists.


I am dumb as death—
the city swallows us.

How do I dream
when shadows
crowd our sleep?


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