Jeremy Radin was born in Los Angeles but don’t let that fool you. He’s much more comfortable in miserable weather. The forests of Oregon make more sense to him than language. At Loch Lomond, he took his shirt off in the rain and made animal sounds with his friends on top of a mountain. His work has appeared, or is forthcoming in venues such as Epigraph, The Rattling Wall, and Souvenir.
All work
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I went down next to the river, /
showed my naked body to the river /
& the river came & did not go. …
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Forbidden language pulled from tongues of chimney smoke, the Book of Snow that moves through ending after ending.
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I’d been thinking about leaving. I’d been thinking how there’s something about out here. Before long it’s a new January and you’re hungover with a heartache for a man you won’t see for several years until he pops up on that very popular, critically-acclaimed sitcom with that actress you learned to like, then hate, then feign indifference abou
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The leak in your breathing/
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If I have already/
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what’s my move?/
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Poetry,
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or Postcard Prose