Summer, Corpus Christie 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 MoreAmy 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 rose quartz and…
Read MoreSpark Jed Myers __________ Restless at night, I stepped outon the deck. High in the blackbetween a blink and the next, a brightorange speck streaked left-to-right on an earthward slant.It burned out before it could reachthe treetops, before I could thinktwo words for it—tiny torch, match struck and unlitso quick,…
Read MoreBirds Without Music 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 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 Originally published in Bateau Literary Magazine Kristina Martino __________ 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 so…
Read MoreWilliam 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 suck the…
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