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      February 12, 2025Club EscapeAaron Poochigian

      The long line leaning toward the doorman’s crossed
      and tattooed arms, the stamp of stymied heels,
      the sighed frustration of the vape-exhaust,
      the outright bribes and liner-eyed appeals
      are beautiful because they mean belief
      the thudding dazzle in that box is worth
      steep anxious ache, belief that even brief
      bottomless freedom can be found on earth.

      from #86 – Poetry Prize

      Aaron Poochigian

      “I live in New York’s East Village where nightlife is very lively. Just walking through the Friday-night excitement revives in me the infinite possibilities a club or rave used to hold for me—you know, like what is happening in there might well change your life. I think I want that feeling back. And so this poem.”