Week of January
Issue #36
Spring 1985
A Christmas forest dies along West Ninth Street. There is no disease. Men come home from work, drag the little northern pines shedding their fishbone needles down narrow, carpeted stairs. Noble logs now, hirsute & dog-high, stand at my side,...
Purchase an archive subscription to see the rest of this article.
Purchase an archive subscription to see the rest of this article.
