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Clayton Eshleman

Summer 1994

Quotidian Spectres

By Clayton Eshleman

November winds. Mammoths wheel and bay   over librarial vaults. Somehow archaic pride, somehow our unforgivable promotion of slaughter in Salvador–they do not balance. I want them twisting on a single […]

Summer 1994

Outtakes

By Clayton Eshleman

He wanted the synthesis and the mêlée, wanted to eat himself, be utterly outside himself,  to keep on perishing. Wanted the kinks in the muss, the stuff stuck to the […]