The Whirlwind Review
Issue 1


Table of Contents
More Poetry
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Lyn Lifshin

Writer's Conference Brochure

Sunny in the new flyer.
Everybody’s smiling,
writing under the trees.
It doesn’t rain, there are
no black flies. Flowers in
bloom. No one can see
the poet who will black
ball you when you’re
not interested in his bed.
Pine smell and night birds
camouflage the novelist
who packs in the night,
moans, “if I don’t get out
of here I’ll become an
alcoholic or gay.” In the
photographs, the giddy
cradle their paper babies.
It’s like a Christmas card
letter of the Happy Family
before what’s really
going on leaks out







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