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"My Reptile" Little frilled lizard with your big mouth and your clutch of egg. Pure urge iguana I wanna wanna wanna heavy pet in a moist habitat. Your dewlap licks down my spine; your creep yearns, yearns your crawl, like a small machine that you rev and rev and rev until the engine floods. Gin and bleach: two clear liquids aiming for purity, bordering the toxic. Catherine Wing's poems are soaked in her cocktail, mixing doubt, loneliness, rough elbows, and razor focus. It riddles, aiming askew for a straight answer: how do ...

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