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George Murphy
Between the Desert and the Moon
Re-reading Federico García Lorca’s “Poet in New York.” By George Murphy “There has been no more terribly acute critic of America than...


George Murphy
Snegurochka
By George Murphy I can only write to you at night, Yana. You only feel real in these early-morning moments, when city lights glint...
George Murphy
Wandering Stars
By George Murphy No city lights scrape away our stars here. The wind comes and goes in darkness, and owls softly boom, as small creatures...
George Murphy
Flowers
By George Murphy Saturday and we are lost in a sea of cherry-billows, alone together. We lie down, reach our roots deep, and pour...
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