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Poems

Brad Rose “The Nature of Inebriation”

Brad Rose The Nature of Inebriation Three o’clock in the morning, I wake up and hear the rain giddy drunk, falling all over itself barely able to hit the roof in three or four tries, but still persists in its dizzy, wasted, plunge. Brad Rose‘s website is www.bradrosepoetry.com.  

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Elizabeth Alford “Meteor Highway, Just Off 180”

Elizabeth Alford Meteor Highway, Just Off 180 Sometimes when all is dark and the night is long and lonely, I stare up and wish on the biggest, brightest star: that it might shine on when I am gone — that it might one day tell you wink by wink all those words I never said. […]

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Steve Klepetar “Broken Lamp”

Steve Klepetar Broken Lamp Last night we broke the lamp but when I woke you were still asleep your lovely face in shadow, so I watched a while, marveling at your quiet breaths, the streaming of your hair. There is no video of Steve Klepetar dancing in college.  

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Sandra S. McRae “Timing”

Sandra S. McRae Timing Just as I pull into my mother’s driveway and step out of the car, hundreds of wild geese fly by overhead, laboring the air, honking and squalling, announcing my place in the family of things. Sandra S. McRae cannot get enough of life’s sweet, tender moments (www.WordsRunTogether.com).  

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Shloka Shankar: 2 more erasures

Shloka Shankar 2 erasures distance (n.) Distance is a thousand years hardened with molasses, carved from the laws of physics.   Source: An erasure culled out from Chapter 7, p. 65 of Beneath the Sugar Sky by Seanan McGuire.   to unfasten (v.) We unfasten a bit of sense, inaudible to the wise. Source: An […]

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Shloka Shankar: 2 erasures

Shloka Shankar 2 erasures spurt (n.) The best idea is a spurt, enough to consume clouds large and swift. Source: An erasure culled out from Chapter 2, p. 19 of Beneath the Sugar Sky by Seanan McGuire.   to believe (v.)  Believe in the fallen, insulated against the whirlpool   of belonging. Source: An erasure […]

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Peter Venable: 3 poems

Peter Venable 3 poems   Sun Spill Threads of light hang from cloud skirts, dabbing beach streets with swabs of steam. On a pier an octogenarian kneads sunscreen into knotted cypress knees. I Hitchhiked by an interstate bridge knee-deep in retreads. Peter Venable is serving a life sentence, condemned to compose verse.  

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Ryan Michael Kershaw “Chinese Finger Trap”

Ryan Michael Kershaw Chinese Finger Trap I want to make it clear that this is not a metaphor for anything: I’ve got both my index fingers stuck in this Chinese Finger Trap and feel I will never escape. Ryan Michael Kershaw prefers you do the dishes right after you eat.  

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