The Flirt FormulaAnne Portugal (trans. Jean Jacques Poucel) The poems go two by two across facing pages, where they press against each other, connect, and go forth in a tremulous manifesto. The result is a syntactical vertigo poised above nothingness. The halves meet only in an instant, suggesting that the crux of poetry is the art of not quite touching. We loved to surrender hardly located know that we were the ruin just juxtaposed bouquets that each of us had a
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