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PLUS, another great poem by Painted Bride Quarterly contributor Arlene Ang:

What Happens to the Postwoman When She Stops Delivering the Mail

~@~

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Last night was excellent. What really wins me about being downstairs at The Bubble Tea House (7:30 – 2nd Tuesdays – 34th and Sansom in Phila) is that it sets me free to be the jellyfish I was dreaming about all day. In March, like this, ain\’t nothing better.

Mr. Hiram Larew stood tall and threw his voice out over us and thank you thank you Hiram Larew. Ms. Ditta Baron Hoeber fixed her eyes on that end we all must come to and face down one day soon. She was tenacious; she refused to look away. She never faltered, striking melancholies at many angles.

Mr. Larew pronounced disappointing, pronounced savory, pronounced in a voice all his own, bending the language to him. I was glad for every bit of it. He gave his 17 minutes legs that could move, truly.

As different a pair as they were, there was an ease that they shared. Their perceptions were formidable, visceral and crafty. The perceptions were unique to these writers, but they were accessible. I was a stranger, but they led me through a familiar territory. I was inclined to listen.

There is something to say about the strangeness of the language here. In keeping true to their own voices, they made the experience singular for me. Therefore their own, theirs to share, therefore most enjoyable.

Extreme Fishkin, what can I say about them? They rocked so well. I want them to attend all future business meetings with me.

See you all April 14.

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