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    CLOCKWORK by Anannya Uberoi

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    Clockwork The clockwork's clunking cycles— routine chirrups working with our own, mechanical metronome dictating our waking and falling and drifting in staccato synchrony. The clockwork's scissors shard furibund flowers by the hour, comb the seasons, change their warmth, pendulum the...

    BREEZE by Alan Berger

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    BREEZE There is a soft breeze coming from a place I use to be A sweet gust between the two of us A truce of sorts if you want to call it that A sort of cease fire...

    OVERFLOW by Adam Day

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    OVERFLOW Judges – spit no polish; wigs out of order – clouds hanging like wool on barbed wire. History rush loosens jaws white system reality rewritten in cities that are also history. Adam Day is the author of Left-Handed Wolf...

    TEN THINGS I HATE ABOUT YOU AND OTHER LIES I TELL MYSELF by Erin...

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    Ten Things I Hate About You And Other Lies I Tell Myself One. You never say thank you or please, and You hate everything that’s breathing. I discovered it since day One, of course, and soon...

    WHY by Dave Clark

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    Why Why. Who is better off at their final breath? I cry out. Why? I get no answer. There has to be an answer for this. Surely some reason, Some purpose. But what answer Would leave me feeling okay About their demise? What answer would satisfy? Why. I’m...

    ANGEL OF BRIDGEPORT by Linda Barrett

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    Angel of Bridgeport The County called me up For Jury Duty I had to report on the 27th To make sure I got there By 8:15 A.M. I took a drive up there Mother in tow. The Map Quest’s directions Confused me Driving is...

    IN THE FLOW OF THE LIGHT by Martin Willitts Jr.

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    In the Flow of the Light A warm, comforting light fringes the window with quiet prayers. A year or two can pass in a second, as noiseless as yellowjackets sampling daises. I welcome that silence containing hints...

    SUPERNOVA by Alethea Jimison

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    Supernova I wish that I knew to tell her that her laugh is a burst of light, like a flashing supernova. Her smile is the warmth of home. The curve of her femininity goes on...

    DEAR MAMA by Nikita Bhardwaj

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    Dear Mama You told me I was born to be loved. That I clawed out of the womb like a wild thing, slick with my father’s breath and the first smell of rain. We were alone,...

    PASSING TIME by John P. Drudge

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    Passing Time In the vaguely Haunted Eventless days Of wandering aimlessly Over bridges From bank to bank Past smoky cafes And cheap hotels High on wine And careless oblivion Putting place And tradition Beyond the tangible Striking Of my tears On cobblestones As...