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--- C H R I S T O P H E R   D A V I S


The Turkish owner of the Red Star convenience store refused my check after the hurricane, a stripped tree having fallen on our instant access cash machine

as when a warrior, a spear thrust clean through his breast, sags backward, drops from his chariot into the dust, his armor clattering around his torso.


In the Fitness Center parking lot, in my soft red mouth, I worship two cocks, one from Beijing, one from Saigon, depressors on our native tongue.

A Russian ad chatters in the dashboard. Jang and Hung, homo erecti before me, our threesome shielded by the driver's side door, whisper

to each other in Mandarin the latter learned, along with French, from his mother, so long ago. Does Jang urge, come again? I nod

and nod. An honest man prefers the mountain; a wise man prefers the sea.


In the convenience store, a birth-defected boy begged his daddy for a slice of pumpkin pie the same golden color as the skin of his fingerlesshand slapping the dog collars, shaking the wall of silver chains, a waterfall.

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