For John who’s probably somewhere smoking an American Spirit.

“The tradition of my cosmic body; an outer star at the peak of my brow” — Shakeema Smalls gives us the infinite volta.

“the salt sprinkled delicately across” — it’s time for sensory overload

Image: dream starts with rain, ends with flood, a gorgeous and gorgeously-shaped work.

“The first boy that ever claimed he loved me/ followed that up with a your hair is too curly, / straighten it and then you'll look good.”