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Lorenzo Herrera y Lozano Brown is the color of my god’s skin.
Gentle, curvy, older than a Spanish whip.
My god abides outside of sin,
no water needed to baptize the newly born.
Taylor Johnson When I again take out more than I have available in my bank
account and I know I shouldn’t to make the rent
I am grateful and lucky to pay there is
a woman on the bus who is the mother or aunt or some loved one of
Rigoberto González Fulgencio's silver crown--when he snores
the moon, coin of Judas, glaring
at the smaller metals we call stars
Charlie Bondhus At the mirror I heft
elbows, belly, cock,
say hematocrit—44.3; hemoglobin—15.2;
Kathi Wolfe In an elevator trapped
between the fifteenth and sixteenth
floor of her apartment building,
Sunday morning, Elizabeth, her cane
Thomas Hill This poem is in video format.
Paul Tran TO SAY IT PLAIN. He comes inside
without a sound. I shut the door
I should have never opened. My body
flips over on the bed like a coin
Niki Herd the black body found
next door near the house where
the blind girl lived