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Mons Pubis takes you on a disassociated, druggy, New York City bus ride, slowly barreling into the future as old date spots, urban detritus, and the lives of so many strangers pass out of view. In the collection the poet drinks nutcrackers on the beach, notices the figures of women, ponders visiting a happy ending massage parlor, and overindulges in dissociative powders.

Mons Pubis