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PAUL CHRISTENSEN
OF MICE AND MEN
When you step outside my front door, your feet touch what feels like a mirror, an oiled mirror that was made for you to slip on, perhaps...
IN THE ICY WOMB OF WINTER
My wife noted this morning that the temperature gauge outside our kitchen widow read minus 9 degrees. The windows in the bedroom were...
WHERE ARE THE SNOWS OF YESTERYEAR?
The yard looks like a thrift store exploded and left behind all these threadbare white shirts, many of them stained and knotted up. But...
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