Summer, Corpus Christie by Joddy Murray These cobblestone foreheadspeppered in long genetic lines—like head ivy, like finger flowers—pocked in 7th grade and contended:now find a landing strip for my bicycleor throw once more the rusted hatchetinto unfinished garage walls. Sweatfills all these ridges, drips ontosage-green, plastic saladbowls used for corn…
Read MoreTwo Poems by Amy Hassinger When Asked to Clean Your Room “Come see my museum,” you say,and you lead me, a hand on my arm,to your window seat,where you have arranged your collection of treasures,each grouping labeled in careful ballpoint printon a folded piece of notebook paper. There are…
Read MoreSpark by Jed Myers Restless at night, I stepped out on the deck. High in the black between a blink and the next, a bright orange speck streaked _ left-to-right on an earthward slant. It burned out before it could reach the treetops, before I could think two words for…
Read MoreBirds Without Music by Christopher Locke 5,000 red-winged blackbirdsrain unbidden from an Arkansassky like trench coats shot to pieces,streets and lawns ankle-deep in littlebodies. A white-crested laughingthrush bloated under a scrim of wastewater at the Miami Zoo, its blackstreak across the eyes like an homageto Annie Lennox until I reconsider,sure…
Read MoreNo Limits by David Subacchi What use dry stonesdug from hard soilto be piled one on another.Sheep pay little attention. They observe no limits.We mark wooland clip earsfor convenience. But they go where they willclambering overall obstructionson empty hillsides. Bleating their protestsweaker than birdsongor the humof passing traffic. Why speak…
Read MoreElegy for the Ignorance of Nudity by Kristina Martino originally published in Bateau Literary Magazine To put things in perspective, the cosmos is commonplace,comprising a similar politics of implosions and cease-fires and expansion. As such, the earth is a placard that defaces the grandscale and I live there and…
Read MoreTwo Poems by William Brown Monarchs I wanted to dust their beating wings, douse them in alcohol, press into paper, onto toothpicks stabbed in foam. But when I arrive, plastic bag tied to a stick, they ignite the hush of alfalfa, pillage the flower’s throats like boys back home who…
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