Derek Ellis

CLOUD STUDIES Constable, in Hampstead,paints hundreds of cloudsin oils on paper. He’s precise,dating them, adding commentaryto their backs....
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Chris Green

How hard the mountain tries to become the wind. How hard the wind tries to become a flame. How hard the flame tries to become a mountain. And the mountain, how it pretends not to notice the moon’s secret moves, what a torn moon rising from its mirror.

R. Riekki

I’m smelly— / brain full of spies, garlic in my asshole. I’m a cork, / a forty-foot pole. I’m a poet, which means I’m Spock / without the intelligence.

Daniel Riddle Rodriguez

She makes a face like she is turning a thumbscrew / but the thumbscrew is her face.

Francesca Bell

I peer into the little darkness / her flesh holds, // thinking how a person can’t stop herself

Francesca Bell

Each month comes the reminder / of the gash God made in me. / I like to think He made it / with one finger, the way an artist / will reach right into a painting / and finish it off.

Ryan Van Winkle

you begin to feel / like a piece of wheat / standing up straight – / like other living things – // a tractor coming towards you / at 500 stalks a second

Gennady Aygi

the mushrooms disappeared. / It happened gradually, / over maybe thirty years. / And now, when I recall / their disappearance, their “departure,” / it seems like one grand movement, / like — the hushing / of one very long orchestra...

Kelli Russell Agodon

There’s an old dog limping in the yard / and it’s my old dog. Bless the sweet / fog he roams through and call that that sweet / fog

J.D. Schraffenberger

This is for your own good he said / What’s good for the goose he said // He said oh my goodness / Only the good die young

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