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By Patricia Monaghan
After the nightly news and four martinis
he quietly begins to draw the inner workings
of the bomb, knowing the explosion needed
By Patricia Spears Jones
And I am full of worry I wrote to a friend
Worry, she replied about what—love, money, health?
All of them, I wrote back. It’s autumn, the air is clear
By Jeff Gundy
A good day for late wildflowers--daisies and burrs
leaned out into the path for a better view, brilliant
blue somethings with tiny blooms on tall stalks.
By Heather Davis
The lights in your home channel 29 men, their
soot stained clothes, last breaths, crystalline sweat
let loose on black rock
By Gregory Pardlo
Unfinished, the road turns off the fill
from the gulf coast, tracing the bay, to follow
the inland waterway.
By Jody Bolz
Pages flit above the ruined bookstalls.
Blank or dark with words, it doesn’t matter:
paper is as dangerous as ink—as thought.
By Randall Horton
The splintered body
The red-neck guards
By Philip Metres
In the green beginning,
in the morning mist,
they emerge from their chrysalis
By Remica L. Bingham
I enter to find all the students in uniform
occupying a small room.
By Martín Espada
In the republic of poetry,
a train full of poets
rolls south in the rain