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By Rebecca Black
Sergio has ink-pot eyes, girlish wrists.
He draws superheroes extremely well—
Avengers, Wolfman, El Toro Rojo,
By Karen Skolfield
It's right next to a Polariod booth.
The instructions say the needles are small
and barely felt. The pictures, it explains,
have nudity, but no gratuitous nudity.
By Nadia Sheikh
I let Shane Kennedy
reach back in his desk
to fondle my calf,
soft and buttery
By D. Gilson
The honeysuckle dew slick
& sweet this morning
& only an empty Wendy's cup
thrown to ditch
By Sara Brickman
They do not want me to be a river, but I am unstoppable.
I am the perfect instrument. Capable
of every sound, but here the only sound you hear under
me is No. Is, Please. The men
By Kendra DeColo
It is easy to believe
we are separate entities,
you and I
as I wait, a fish in the chasm
By Catherine Calabro
Santa Maria della Pieve above us, and the light-speared trees.
At the cast-iron table you tried to tell
the gentleman how we were related,
how I came from you, or halves of you.
By Constance Norgren
Who is she, standing just off-center,
her eyes on us, caught turning to us,
her arms folded over her chest,
By Demetrice Anntía Worley
On this eve of the dead, I cry out loud,
“por favor Virgen de Guadalupe, don’t
forsake me,” before I open the door,
before I see la policía flat
By Jenny Browne
Wheeled onto the jet leaving
my town, another soldier
whose pruned body echoes earth
liberating itself from gravity.