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November 18, 2019 |
in Poetry |
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Her elegant hands caressing rich dark fur, smiling like she ate a muffin, eyes open but in a closed place, she’s not the diamond set above the BULOVA, she’s the spoke of the time. Let...
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November 17, 2019 |
in Poetry |
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A bull moose circles at the edge of my lawn and woods. His large head tilts oddly, as if he were looking or listening for answers as to why the wildness has greyed and grown smaller, why he...
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November 16, 2019 |
in Poetry |
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When a beloved dies, we gather like elephants to mourn the bones touching each foot ankle, femur, rib, vertebrae, shoulder, stroking the pelvis, jaw, cranium, moving each one separately...
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October 25, 2019 |
in Uncategorized |
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Comments Off on BASHO IN AMERICA – Sander Zulauf
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July 11, 2019 |
in Poetry |
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LACUNA On trails of slash pine and sabal palm, the sun suggests she turn reptile and sprawl toward water know animal pleasure. The wind wants to empty her wonders if she’ll...
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May 9, 2019 |
in Poetry |
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IN TAMIKA’S BASEMENT Sorta stoned from the spray paint fumes. * TWISTED FUCKEN SISTER * Alternating black and hot-pink letters scrawled across the white cotton...
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March 19, 2019 |
in Poetry |
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NATURALIZED The blinds on your windows have learned to make their own movies and long outclass your transactions with ocean fleece. Naturally predisposed to back flips,...
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March 16, 2019 |
in Poetry |
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EXPOSURE for Alex Honnold, 2011 You say finger locking feels very exposed. I’ll never know how my body feels relying on skill to live, or ...
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February 4, 2019 |
in Poetry |
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from the Aquahbruh/ Melinated Merman Series & for Black Men who swim Underneath the blue rim of waves the water breaks across my brown back. I paddle my legs & crawl:...
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January 28, 2019 |
in Poetry |
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You’re in an empty grain silo— so dark you can’t see the domed roof. The only door slams closed behind you. All the light you’re able to see shines from a nickel-sized hole...
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January 27, 2019 |
in Poetry |
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A prayer and a hymn to the heavens Gran offers before preparing for the hurricane, scolding me on manners and good housekeeping. Born a burden, womb carrying the history of...
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January 26, 2019 |
in Creative Nonfiction & Memoir |
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She’s there and not there, a ghost lying on the rug, an apparition sitting by my feet. Maggie, my sixteen-year-old miniature poodle, died two days ago. I see her regal head, her soft...
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January 26, 2019 |
in Fiction |
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Ever since the principal had banned texting, Mia barely talked to her boyfriend during the day. Sometimes she didn’t see him until lunch. That morning, though, he was standing right...
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January 23, 2019 |
in Poetry |
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Kiss of strawberry, a thug, yet like nectar to me— at least in the beginning. Hint of raspberry, pizzazz and dazzle, every inch of him. A phase of cranberry completely convinced me that...
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January 15, 2019 |
in Poetry |
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ODE TO THE GARDENER “i can grow love even when it’s not there” see how closely these bruises resemble hydrangeas with enough molding how each...