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October 2013, vol 9, no 3

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Jim Kacian


involves motion—slow-scudding clouds, gently lapping water, a breath of wind. maybe it's immobility in the midst of so much that moves that makes it so. but the complete absence of motion is something else again—ominous, moribund, like the dark trees against a darkening sky at the end of the livelong day. my quietus there is also darker, tremoring against the illusion of light . . .

could go either way the frazile sea