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By Heather Davis
The lights in your home channel 29 men, their
soot stained clothes, last breaths, crystalline sweat
let loose on black rock
By Chris August
America, don’t we love like oil?
Don’t our slippery arms
Pave the pores of those who need us?
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.
By Carly Sachs
Where does memory go?
Our windows looking out on the bay,
my wet clothes hanging on the antlers
By Tara Betts
Quiet girl found a voice mama could not quell
inside Nutbush City Limits. The baby
blasted beyond timid Annie Mae into Tina
By Lori Desrosiers
I was the wrong kind of bride,
more sweat than glisten,
more peach than pomegranate.
By Lee Sharkey
What do you do with an eye in the cup of your hand?
What do you see that you didn't?
What do you make of a sphere of jelly with fins of torn muscle?
By Joseph Ross
If you leave your shoes
on the front porch
when you run
By Melisa Cahnmann-Taylor
Bionic Feeding Woman
whips breasts out, sprays
privacy netting over him
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