This is my poem which the paris review rejected last year :/
She had eyes as deep as AriZona’s
and hair the color of purple Doritos.
I met her at the deli.
She left me on the Staten Island ferry.
Her breath smelled like Takis.
I guess I’m reading this anthology to find out what I did wrong. So far, no clue. The first piece, about the women who drops a baby, killing it on impact, was good.
— Apr 16, 2023 04:09PM
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