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Issue 4 |
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Page 3 |
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G Minor 7
Letting the shapes unravel dual strand decides one red one blue somewhere midline a vein pierced bubbles up and whispers. This is also the voice sconce cracked and broken re-pieced you let imperfect phrases brook no remorse.
— Marta T. Coppola |
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Elsewhere There must be a story here. Why else would the great blue heron and the white ibis and the wood stork lift all at once into the air, as though to make of the evening sky a reliquary? Someone wants something or doesn’t want something, which is another way of saying the birds take flight and don’t come back, or the birds find themselves plucking at their own feathers with their beaks, or the birds die and become bats. Look at how the hinged wings carry them out of the sweetgum trees. Or maybe an alligator snapping turtle is diving down again into the darkness: the waters loam-black and dense as oil, and the blurring of the wings the love the turtle feels for the other world, or the expanse of wings the magic garment cloaking the bruised red and orange of the horizon. While gathering night throbs like a pulse, as though to tell us for the first time how far away the earth is from a rising moon, even when the moon appears impaled in the limbs of the tupelo.
— Doug Ramspeck |
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There plays a moth
There plays a moth or a butterfly on a downtown subway in lower west New York. It flutters from one angle to the other above halos and ears- hands and noses. until suddenly my moth is gone and I search obediently for him until images of his death wrinkle wildly in the spot above my eyes below my hair. we've had a rough day, doesn't explain it sometimes. we want to go home, retire at twenty, smoke pot in bed or beds. we want to quit unhappiness while we're ahead. forgive my shortness, it's merely we've had a rough day I say but it's not picturesque- it's black and white, it's not illustrated or animated at all. ah, I've found him he's begun to dig holes in the crevices of the seats and toes.
— Chelsea B. Turowsky |
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Disneyland
At the gift shop He tried to sell me everything I need to build my heart back and I bought it It pumps blood and comes in plastic wrap and there are six in the series but the one you buy will be yours will dangle from your charm bracelet like your future So fragile and small I could crush it in my hands these pewter trinkets look like gold Look like god The way they shine when I’m not looking at them
— Kevin Holmes |