Morning Coffee #2

Where the author pretentiously post a poem he enjoys. BY ARUNDHATHI SUBRAMANIAM After A.A. (1967–2015) It’s 2005 and we are almost glamorous, the five of us— the chairs are cane, my shirt batik, the sunshine Goa and Heineken. We’re past the clumsy brutality of eighteen— we’ve deleted makeshift faces, borrowed persuasions, stances without journeys. We’ve forgiven […]

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