Beatrice Winifred Iker
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    Micro Story #7: I Am Not a Tablerapper

    The handcuffs are tight - tighter than they oughta be. “You’re a criminal,” I’m accused, viciously, on the other side of the plastic...

    Poem #13: Giant Like Wolves

    I did not know I hadn't experienced Death as an adult until it happened. How can that be? When Death stole my lungs, breathing became...

    Poem #12: Gothic Honey

    There is never enough sweetness on the tongues of weapons They walk around march around skip around as if their bitterness won’t kill...
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