By Paul TranDesert born. Wild
As corn. Dry
Bitch. Itchy clit.
By Danielle BadraWe are not born to be barons of wealth. We
are soft spoken wordsmiths, not soldiers. We are
not broken by hardship or hate. We are not
By Wo ChanShe closed the doors
and then the blinds
and then her face, midday.
By Taylor JohnsonBless the boys riding their bikes straight up, at midnight, touching,
if only briefly, holding, hands as they cross the light to Independence.
Bless them for from the side the one on the red bike looks like me
his redbrown hair loose against the late summer static heat.
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