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Letter to My Almost Former House
It’s true, I’m getting ready to leave you.
Theresa Burns
Logs
Giants lie entangled on wet sand,
Grace Schulman
Field Dressing
Dispatch animal
Angela Ball
The Museum of Mortal Sins | Soul
We stood up to our waists in the icy water
Anzhelina Polonskaya
Hi. My Name Is Billy Hollands.
And there it is, that little tilt of my head –
Bill Hollands
Untitled |Untitled
Day as in backwards
Ralph Angel
36.
A woman was choked by a metal shackle
Louis Calaferte
Snow and Minerals
Rouge. It’s not a rose, it’s rouge.
Tomaž Šalamun
The Mirror
We dream of two dragons
Norman Dubie
Hurricane: Hera | Squall: Echo
You never hear of Ixion, tied to a revolving wheel,
Ange Mlinko
Antonio Gamoneda, from Book of the Cold (World Poetry Books, May 2022) translated from Spanish by Katherine M. Hedeen and Víctor Rodríguez Núñez
You smell the wet linens, your acids.
Antonio Gamoneda
Arf
At the stoplight in Dogleg children swept metal
Peter Jay Shippy
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