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Cluster index: J. Mark Smith

Four poems.

J. Mark Smith: ‘They’ll sit in the dark on basement floors,
signallers in a dry signal-house.
Gibbon, reluctant to judge it a
decline, leaves his club.’

Winétt de Rokha: Three poems.

Winétt de Rokha: ‘The word becomes a butterfly of the night,
bats its wings, stops, opens itself to unforeseen pearls —
catches at an echo that rolls slowly
away, dividing and dividing again, and chases after its own flight
like the mane of a comet as it dissolves.’