MaverickMagazine

Vassilis Zambaras


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THOMAS ALVA EDISON, 1949

    I knew who Thomas Alva was by heart;
    he was always twenty-five, suspended

    over my bed like a bat, though
    he was really a light bulb.

    Thomas must have flickered and died
    about twenty-five times before Momma said

PULP

    curioCity kills Bloody Marys
    maraschino cherries Pop guns
    gang bangs poontang rat snitches
    and Edsel squeals

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