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Jody Bolz

Mutanabbi Street

By Jody Bolz Pages flit above the ruined bookstalls.
Blank or dark with words, it doesn’t matter:
paper is as dangerous as ink—as thought.
Jericho Brown

Prayer of the Backhanded

By Jericho Brown Not the palm, not the pear tree
Switch, not the broomstick,
Nor the closet extension
Cord, not his braided belt, but God
Lori Desrosiers

That Pomegranate Shine

By Lori Desrosiers I was the wrong kind of bride,
more sweat than glisten,
more peach than pomegranate.
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
Remica L. Bingham

Final Exam Administration

By Remica L. Bingham I enter to find all the students in uniform
occupying a small room.
Melisa Cahnmann-Taylor

After The UPS Man Shouted “Feed Your Baby At Home” Through His Truck Window

By Melisa Cahnmann-Taylor Bionic Feeding Woman
whips breasts out, sprays
privacy netting over him
Martha Collins

lynch

By Martha Collins not as in pin, the kind that keeps the wheels
turning, and not the strip of land that marks
the border between two fields. unrelated
Martín Espada

The Republic of Poetry

By Martín Espada In the republic of poetry,
a train full of poets
rolls south in the rain
A.B. Spellman

from Things I Don’t Miss From My Youth

By A.B. Spellman florene barco moved
to philadelphia &
on a visit home
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