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From Lynn Crosbie:

December 17, 2015

It is near dawn: the sky polishes the moon and sets it in a velvet box, stands and exposes the peach lining of its black dressing gown, and he is hitting me to show me the retreat of the stars, and burning me so I can feel the power of the sun’s tumescence.

He says appalling things to me, but they are the heart of “Nessun dorma” compared to what he does next.

– From “Where Did You Sleep Last Night?”

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