by Michelle Boisseau
I’m in heaven and in Kansas City,
alone except for the guard looking in,
inattentive and tired. . . .
by Alan Soldofsky
So much for the days I can’t remember . . .
or rather, should recall when their numbers
come up as they do, because weeks in advance
I see them pending on the calendar.
by G. C. Waldrep
What’s missing is interior motion,
apprehension of boundaries, of entries and exits
barred but proximate. Outside
snow is falling, somewhere between the fifth and sixth inches
of what the paper calls a storm but which seems more
like a timid theophany, . . .
by Paul Maliszewski
In the evening I leave my desk in order, but every morning, every single morning, when I return, my things aren’t where they’re supposed to be. This started just recently. I can’t remember when exactly. A month or two ago probably. No more than three or four months. Definitely less than five months ago.
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