Hers was a new kind of loneliness,
a perverse presence of mind, as in
a Magritte, the outside, in, the inside,
out, humid nights she smoked
long black cigarettes, coughing blood
she spits into Mason jars kept in
closets and beneath the sink, shelves
of them, kept for no clear purpose
other than as a reminder she’d been
here, been with this man and it had been
like this.

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About Alan Catlin

In a previous life, Alan Catlin, was an itinerant bartender, a profession he likens to being a soldier of fortune only much more boring. Usually.The best part of the work was an almost unlimited source of free material for writing projects and his placement in a high risk pool that finally got his life insurance...read more agent off his back once he turned thirty. His work was twice voted among the Most Neglected Books of the year by legendary small press editor Marvin Malone of The Wormwood Review. He is currently the best kept secret in Schenectady N.Y, where he lives, through a series of coincidences, that defy explanation. His most recent chapbook is a sequence of neighborhood poems from March Street press, "Near Death in the Afternoon on Becker Street."
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Chapter Uno ...
by Ben Reese