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Jakob I by Genna Gardini

Let’s intone a little rhyme about passing. Necessity renovates the interior, quick-cut job, gravel still in the letters’ ridge, so he can feel his way around the back room- a chest that won’t contract, because that would mean it was...

The Words by Genna Gardini

She said, “Love, the only thing that lives is letters.” The truth is a clamour, is a great rocking vibration that’s brittle and sex-shelled. That’s listening, a conch. I’ve looked into that mouth, and asked: Did I know you from...

Day At The Beach by Genna Gardini

Strip off your skirts and wade into the lapping gape, where the sand is a mouth against your underwear. We want to be amalyzed, grabbed by the back of our one-piece, sent nylon-large and packing into a cavernous gullet, widening...

Art Critic At the Beach by Genna Gardini

This seawood is just spool. It’s green and long as a projector’s tongue. And the rock it’s on seems plastic-knifed. Debowled, like an old VHS. It doesn’t work for me. But then, suddenly, the sea arrives and edits the scene...