CHASM By Lisa Brognano

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CHASMBy Lisa Brognano     CHASMHe yells to her overBig bank of hills andSees nothing but bluntBrown banks and a snakeRiver below.She hears Tom and fromHer ledge moves a little,Sees the river and some grass.He strains and...

POEMAS DE MICHAEL SPRING Traduzido por Maria João Marques

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POEMAS DE MICHAEL SPRINGTraduzido por Maria João Marques surrealista no tempo não há mais árvorespara arrancar do seu corpo de cada buraco espreita um olhocomo um amanhecer inteiro atraindoenxames de relógios e ponteiros fecha os olhos e torna-se nada...

VISITOR By Jessica Alverson

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VISITORBy Jessica Alverson The moon is a shadow in the blue sky Grey-white apparition loomingIn darknessIt will be light Same neighborhood walkBuildingsStreetsSidewalk carrier of 1000 paths The west coast music of 1990sTells my body to walkTells my mind...

MARKO POGACAR’S POETRY Translated by Andrea Jurjevic

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Poetry by MARKO POGACARTranslated by Andrea Jurjevic MESNI ROMEO Stajao sam na prozoru golih prsa, vikaovolim ćufte, najviše volim ćufte, dolje je far kaoflak prste kada se goni sabljarka rezao noćdijelio mrak na dvoje. jedan je...

THE BURNING SEASON – By Lazola Pambo

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THE BURNING SEASONBy Lazola Pambo   Winter is sentencedinto a silent cataclysmwhen the yellow-eyed chariotsrage upon humanitya battalion of immortal squadronnone of us have ever seen The last anniversary of the universeilluminated by a catharsisthe burning season...

AFTERWORD: OR, THE AMATEUR POET – By Michael T. Smith

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AFTERWORD: OR, THE AMATEUR POETBy Michael T. Smith Afterword: Or, the Amateur Poet                 You thought you gripped the futureWhen you only brushed the dust from your handsand pinched earth's prurient cheekLike that of a chubby,...

LULLABY ON WEST 133rd – By Laurel Kaye

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LULLABY ON WEST 133rdBy Laurel Kaye Lullaby on West 133rd The plane collides and you arriveto murmurs of hyphenated welcomein the halls of terminal 4There was no room for you in Edenso you found a place...

THANKSGIVING – By Obi Nwakanma

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THANKSGIVINGBy Obi Nwakanma Thanksgiving It is the seventh month, and theUvene fruits are ripe again  -The wild berries, plump with juice;The breadfruit, and the gourds are full, heavyLike the pregnant women of this landAbout to give,...

A BALLAD I WISH I WISH I RUN – By Sam Landry

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A BALLAD I WISH I WISH I RUNBy Sam Landry A Ballad I Wish I Wish I Run stuck in the roadcoiled under breathdeep under rollingtides green from thegall one can haveearly in the morningwiping the...

THE LADY’S EYES – By Jules Supervielle, translated by John J. Ronan

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THE LADY'S EYESBy Jules Supervielle / translated by John J. Ronan This woman, whom I know, seems to herself unknown, absently off in the heavens wearing her weary expression, A rose made of cloth stiff on its iron stalk, and pearls...