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From Alessandra Naccarato:

November 18, 2016

I’ve heard there is a room where hooded
women enter, writing dates on the wall
with the torn edge of their finger. I’ve heard
you can cipher the numbers to bodies, to
the graceless edge of some men’s bed. Is
this what you call justice? … How many women stand
in this room? Where do they piss and how
often? Can you comment on the man suing
your spokeswoman for slander? How close
was your body to his mouth? Was his name
chosen by lottery or straws? How will you
answer if you’re sued for this poem?

No Comment, published in Room magazine

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