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When There Is Nothing Left to Say Andrew Hemmert

There is always the road curling eternal toward distance, flanked by barbed fences and defined, at night, by electric glow. When the sun is high, the road is snarled fur, alabaster stares, corpses half-devoured by birds. There is, always, the road. Whole forests of cypress thick as thunder. Also shopping malls—the world put under.

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Profile for Apeiron Review

Apeiron Review | Summer 2015  

The summer issue of Apeiron Review, a Philadelphia-based literary magazine, is ready for you and a glass of your favorite beverage. Cool off...

Apeiron Review | Summer 2015  

The summer issue of Apeiron Review, a Philadelphia-based literary magazine, is ready for you and a glass of your favorite beverage. Cool off...