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Featured Articles

Sonet XCVI

By Dylan Teague ZBT, Fiji, Kappa Sig, Beta— These names, my head full, constant fervency Across the dance floor, a twisted Degas. I search for something more, new currency. A brother pulls out a knife, pulse heightens. He carves a hole in the cold metal can, Nonchalant scoff, he says, “shotgun titan— Kill this Natty, […]


The Natty Light Can

By Mary Beth Schatzman so much relies on a silver Natty can glazed in rain water surrounded by white girls.


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