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    BLUES BUSKER by John Sweeder

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    BLUES BUSKERby John Sweeder  Blues Busker The young mancradles his harmonicawith cupped handscaressing it with his soul,coaxing emotionfrom its compact formas poets do with pens.

    THERE WAS TIME by Dean Baltesson

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    THERE WAS TIMEBy Dean Baltesson There Was Time There was a timewhen time was in store for uswe discovered a summerand we wanted lovewanted so much...

    JOSIE by Sahina Jerome

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    JOSIEby Sahina Jerome JosieThe days, months leading up to her death anniversaryis like being punchedin the lungs.You're gasping for breath.You're grasping for something that will ever beunreachable.The day of...

    EXPLORER by Fabrice Poussin

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    EXPLORERby Fabrice Poussin Explorer A soul floats gently below the thin surfaceof pearly satin to find its way through a networkof highways to life animated with...

    SUPER-8 by Timothy B. Muren

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       SUPER-8by Timothy B. Muren   Super-8Your grave, Phil Silver, should be here,Philip’s Fill-Up—Gas and Gro.  Hilarious, bro.filled up with bones like a new Christian, like a new Big-Wheel coasting to dirt, downsteep on plastic, breaking...

    WINTER by Craig Kennedy

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    WINTERby Craig Kennedy Night music The gold streetlamp sheds itsbrilliant hysteriapushing sour sunshine to inifinitedistancesuncharted by the small men in the streetunappreciated by the grapefruit moon.

    SUMMER by Sarah Snyder

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    SUMMERby Sarah Snyder Summer Surrounded by low bushesand small thorny plants, I sit, still and small beside the sharp branchesunder a porch, listen...

    BOARDER by Daisy Bassen

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    BOARDERby Daisy G. Bassen   The egg is balanced on the rim of the glass bowl.It fills the space my palm is meant to hold.The energy that will become the...

    THE CLOSED DOOR by Mukund Gnanadesikan

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    THE CLOSED DOORby Mukund Gnanadesikan  THE CLOSED DOOR The closed door never opens Unless a hand so brave Can brave...

    MIDLIFE by Timothy Robbins

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    MIDLIFEby Timothy Robbins Midlife You go to bed early. The typewriter(which stutters) is locked in the closetfor fear it will write somethingbeautiful. It does anyway, clatteringon...