PESSOAS by Arthur Powers

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Seánce with Fernando Pessoa 1. I, I, I, I… or should I say “we”we know the Anglo-Saxon mindthat desperately seeks and seeks to findthe Truth behind ambiguity. Do we not know the black/white of your thoughts?Did we...

CHICAGO by Elsa Pair

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Bloodletting Bloodletting,but for the rage. If I cut open my chestsurely all that will come out is the rage, spilling down my frontlike vomit or molten lava. If I hold it in any longerthe fever will kill me, and...

THREE DAYS by Peggy Hammond

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Three Days An oak we plantedleans precariouslyinto areas not its own. An expert arrives,advises removal.Clinical, he ticks off the steps.Limbs shorn, trunkcut into sections, hauled down,and if I desire, the stump taken,leaving a depressionwhich time will...

IN THAT SAID-SAME SECOND by Keith Hoerner

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In that said-same second between life...

BOBOLINKO IN A FOREST by Kenneth Pobo

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WANDAWOOWOO AND MATH Numbers feel like a desertI’ve never visited. I’m probably missingsome gorgeous night-blooming cacti.I doubt I’ll ever venture there. I havemovies, books, and music. In high schoolI entered a dark room called algebra.When...

TENEMENT BASH by John Grey

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TENEMENT BASHAnother partyon another tenement third floor.He gets there late.There's people speaking Spanish.There's some speaking English.It's a neighborhood bashand it's that kind of neighborhood.The food's mostly Mexican,tacos, burritos,and the beer's Coronathough someone lugged alongsome...

ALABASTER POLISH by Terry Brinkman

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Alabaster Polish Short admonition ableSpiritual like purity abolishBeautiful veined alabaster polishDeliberate lie whit cableLady her self-setting the tableUnmistakably evidenced demolishedWoman’s softly feathered face polishedGentle a high degree of fable Sonnet CDXXXII Mingling error remembered by chiefShe likes...

ZERO SUM GAME by Mark Murphy

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Bird Brained View of Power for John Bolton I have not journeyed here to steal anythingfrom your domain,least of all, your modest nest, which, I am at pains to point outis far beyond the skill of any...

COMING OUT by Chris Arnone

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Coming Out head-first, blood-slickedhair like a tiny John Stamos.Bubbling with style but no pronouns. Snip the umbilical, suctionand wail, count tenfingers and toes but no sex. The womb was mycloset, sonogram spunstraw into a golden child. No mom-we-need-to-talk...

OLD PAINT COLORS by Sheree LaPuma

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Old Paint Colors Before he died, we shared a common history.The slow unfurling of breath, a womb, twohands, a tapestry of goodbyes in sepia. Aplacenta, grey, buried under the pine-straw of winter. So many sad things...