Improv vampirism could only incubate in the 21st century alp of manure that is New York City, capped in glittering glass prizes as it is, yet woefully propped up by generations of busted and hollowed out gentrified carcasses. Samantha Riott, a native of the Queens borough, seer and doer of things you pretend to know about, hemorrhages diseased verbiage from the vantage point of a malevolent Last Poet. Her poetry lacerates the otherwise agreeable contract you have with consumer sensation...
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