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Poems
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Poems
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Dead Tree in the Back Yard & Gait
You aren’t mine. A lot line
Charles O. Hartman
First Communion, forty-two and the unnamed
I shall sit here, on this bench,
Kristian Koželj
In a Valley & Theorems of Reason
Hello to the theorems of reason, hidden
Phillis Levin
Questions for Fruit Flies and The Habit of Longing
Humble as fruit flies may seem, they . . . engage in a host of complex behaviors
Jean Nordhaus
Honey
Strange music of our Emily —
Cecilia Woloch
Transport | Gdańsk
Today, a simple bowl of onion soup
Roal Vertov
Godscan
The sun is the size of a human foot.
T.R. Hummer
The Sudden Walk
When evening comes to find you still
Devin Johnston
The Movie My Murderer Makes
My murderer sits in row F, seat 3, just behind my wife and me, in row E, seats 3 and 4.
Chris Shipman
The Albino Squirrel
Bury it, I said. In the field. No,
Clare Rossini
Poem by Jahangir Hossain translated from the Bengali by Lloyd Schwartz with Jahangir Hossain
I’ve come again—
Jahangir Hossain
Vita Nova
Born on the outskirts of the Romanian kingdom
Katia Kapovich
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