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Don Share

Pax Americana

By Don Share July kindles the redneck in me.
I blaze down Interstates
that are viaducts for my beery nerves
Kevin Simmonds

Ars Poetica

By Kevin Simmonds I can write a poem
to the limbs of a grandmother
seeded in a scorched field
where her house stood
Gretchen Primack

The Dogs and I Walked Our Woods,

By Gretchen Primack and there was a dog, precisely the colors of autumn,
asleep between two trunks by the trail.
But it was a coyote, paws pink
David Tomas Martinez

from Forgetting Willie James Jones

By David Tomas Martinez It's not water to wine to swallow harm,
though many of us have,
and changing the name
Adam Wiedewitsch

Here Were Buried

By Adam Wiedewitsch in blue earth, among willows, aisles
of box-elder, elms, in the silence between
on the sand-bar in front
Persis M. Karim

Other Mothers

By Persis M. Karim Their sons who speak of a cause
As if it were their two feet
beneath them. That they could hold an idea
Yvette Neisser Moreno

So This Is How They Decided to Take Him

By Yvette Neisser Moreno So this is how they decided to take him—
at the end of his life,
his frame shrunken, his wild rambling days over
Frank X Walker

Mothers Day

By Frank X Walker When the universe reached out for your daughter's
daughter and she reached out for you, your hands
were too full of furniture to hold her
Heather Davis

29 Men

By Heather Davis The lights in your home channel 29 men, their
soot stained clothes, last breaths, crystalline sweat
let loose on black rock
Richard McCann

from Nights of 1990

By Richard McCann What I could not accept was how much space
his body was taking with it: for instance, the space where
I was standing, the dazed fluorescence of his hospital room
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