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Kevin McLellan The blur of
David-Matthew Barnes I remember the rhythm at night:
Your hips wanting mine,
to grind our street-smart
Persis M. Karim Take their limbs strewn about the streets—
multiply by a thousand and one.
Ask everyone in Baghdad who has lost
Jeffrey Thomson I know this: a man walked home drunk
along the corduroy of pines
in west Texas, the bronze duff and
the dust and the late light that fell
Najwan Darwish Fado, I’ll sleep like people do
when shells are falling
and the sky is torn like living flesh
I’ll dream, then, like people do
Don Share July kindles the redneck in me.
I blaze down Interstates
that are viaducts for my beery nerves
Kevin Simmonds I can write a poem
to the limbs of a grandmother
seeded in a scorched field
where her house stood
Nicholas Samaras What is that red throbbing over the sound of engines?
Why is a distant war still being talked about in the media?
I can't see my home or Iraq or the Middle East
outside this bowed rectangle of blue altitude.
Gretchen Primack and there was a dog, precisely the colors of autumn,
asleep between two trunks by the trail.
But it was a coyote, paws pink
David Tomas Martinez It's not water to wine to swallow harm,
though many of us have,
and changing the name