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Kelli Stevens Kane

bitter crop

By Kelli Stevens Kane blueberry blackberry as always
bleeding, back road or boulevard,
our boy crowned with baton,
Jill Khoury

Certain Seams

By Jill Khoury The boy across the street points at me and lisps—now I know what they mean in books
when they say children lisp. He wears a red and white striped t-shirt, addresses my friend who
walks beside me. I ask people to please walk on my left side. It’s the eye that’s not completely dead
Brian Fanelli

Political Soundtrack

By Brian Fanelli Every Sunday, I came dressed in punk rocker black,
checkered pants, steel-toed Docs.
No tie dye on me when I joined
DaMaris B. Hill

Stewing

By DaMaris B. Hill I dream of hounds. Their teeth loose in my veins.
Their howls consume me. They growl and feast.
She whispers not to run. I can't refrain.
Elliott batTzedek

Sunday Afternoon as Oil Pours into the Gulf

By Elliott batTzedek Across a small suburban lawn
a very large man is riding
a very large tractor mower
Jan Beatty

Zen of Tipping

By Jan Beatty My friend Lou
used to walk up to strangers
and tip them - no, really -
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