by Deborah Larsen
I was all by myself, stretching, when this acquaintance of mine, Ray, showed up. He has this tin star that says “Menace” and today he had it hanging from the front of his red T-shirt.
by Gary Fincke
Some of them must have believed in symbols,
Leaving the refuse shaped just so, aligned
In arrows, pentangles, double daggers,
And one cross out back in the bulldozed mud
I'll be raking in April.
by Patricia Goedicke
There’s this one bird keeps waking us up
each morning at five o’clock with these little squirts
of pure music, coiled delicate gurgles in short
round blurts, buttery blobs of sweetness. Like the boy Mozart
playing games, over the silk heaven of our half sleep . . .
by David Ignatow
I want a poem that tells itself
what to do: go and meet people,
convince them you desire their friendship
in a house together. Poem,
be their patient stand-in
when they kill or curse themselves.
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