What happens in the aftermath of a life, a town, or a love? These are the Lovely Dregs. What remains. What is never the same, except that it, oddly, is. Poems sprung up from the cracks, living at the bottom of the potato chip bag at midnight
those savory / iambic iotas / sliding from / a fingers tweeze
counting both / as sustenance / and sin
Here are family matters, the great questions of existence, the meaning of life, and a keeper recipe for chicken all between two high fiber covers all in the savory aftermath.
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