Diane Lockward
Thinking Like a Buddhist Among the nasturtiums, a dead grackle, its feathers obsidian in sunlight. Something moves like a shadow— the busy work of flies, green with iridescent wings. They dig in...
View ArticleSarah Marcus
Choke Point You slide your tongue along the inside of my thigh. Bed down in a ravine cut in the smoothest stone. I bear the weathering. I think of the fossil bed, its remnants and remains the product...
View ArticleRyan Collins
[This is a map for you to read in the flaming] This is a map for you to read in the flaming Wreckage of the near future, the present Passed into ash. Having knives is not being Able to carve &...
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