Author: nick.viau
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Artisanal Anger
When my stack blows, my handwriting grows several points in all directions.Letter Fs stand like middle fingers over the margins, enroute to the hard K.Bloodless fingertips, white with pressure, making…
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That First Sip of Coffee
Sure, it’s another poem about coffee. All poets like coffee, right? And booze? And sunsets? And the sound of cicadas? It isn’t that kind of poem. I was a late…