fromPortland Monthly
14 hours agoA Novel of an Anarchist Nursing Home Run by 1970s Punks
At the window he put his nose against the glass, which was beautifully cold, then drew away and saw the new consistency of the air: quick and blurred and sputtering white. The changed air was leaving itself on the tree branches. The care in those words, the sensitivity! Snow-dreaded, beloved; oppressive, angelic; shoveled, ogled-with the agency to leave itself so wonderfully on the branches! For no fault of his own, James is often in need of salvation. Like snow, he is the most beautiful problem.
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