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The Night Grove
“The torturer wants to know how one minute blood, one minute / snow. ” In a room where “fictive or lesser / realities kept entering,” Kerri Webster encircles the ghosts of violence, tenderness, and fear.
Atomic Clock
“We fail and fail and grow desirous of believing we’re all vehicle, every wet atom of us.” Kerri Webster‘s prose poem draws on place and prayer, fit and ache, showing how the world “lends the appearance of appearing like something else.”