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Kazim Ali

Peach

By Kazim Ali I place the peach gummy on my tongue

I have come to Boulder, Colorado with an agenda which is what

It is my intention to rewrite the cosmic legislation which governs time and space to better allow for what I am for now calling the anarchy of sense
Allison Pitinii Davis

THE MOTEL CLERK’S SON DRIVES OUT TO CHECK ON BUSINESS, 1977

By Allison Pitinii Davis Before him, stickers fade across the bumper:
LAST ONE OUT OF TOWN, TURN OFF THE LIGHTS.
The last employer in Youngstown is the weather:
the truck behind him plows grey snow to the roadside
Jeff Gundy

Day at the Pond Without Geese

By Jeff Gundy A good day for late wildflowers--daisies and burrs
leaned out into the path for a better view, brilliant
blue somethings with tiny blooms on tall stalks.
Carly Sachs

Maine

By Carly Sachs Where does memory go?
Our windows looking out on the bay,
my wet clothes hanging on the antlers
Philip Metres

For the Fifty (Who Formed PEACE With Their Bodies)

By Philip Metres In the green beginning,
in the morning mist,
they emerge from their chrysalis