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By Lisa L. Moore
Word got out about the bad bill.
College students packed up their bikinis,
went back to Austin to tell those men why
By Jericho Brown
They said to say goodnight
And not goodbye, unplugged
The TV when it rained. They hid
By Kamilah Aisha Moon
Huge dashes in the sand, two or three
times a year they swim like words
in a sentence toward the period
By Kathy Engel
write about the killing of Troy Davis or
the years he claimed innocence so many times
the words fell from his mouth like drops of honey.
By Penelope Scambly Schott
Back when I used to march
in the noon of the green world,
I sang like a crow.
By Susan Brennan
We stand at the Capitol
seized in snapshots
of curious tourists
By Holly Bass
What is a furious dance?
It is not polite.
Does not shuck and jive or shuffle along.
By Philip Metres
In the green beginning,
in the morning mist,
they emerge from their chrysalis
By Allison Adelle Hedge Coke
America, I sing back. Sing back what sung you in.
Sing back the moment you cherished breath.
Sing you home into yourself and back to reaso
By David Keplinger
Lincoln, leaving Springfield, 1861,
Boards a train with a salute: but it is weak.
To correct it, he slides his hand away