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Poetry

To Whomsoever Remains

as I write this I am catching up on the news and the news was about nothing at all, the usual flames rising up from the cracks of everything we know, nothing special, but randomly I noticed in the B-roll there was this little slice of a clip of a soldier walking past a bakery […]

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Temperance and The Devil, Reversed

It begins with running, always the same bone-white panic— running from something bigger than yourself, this story told and retold, until it shapeshifts into something Other, and it chases you like a wolf. Unkindness arrives in a whirl of black songs, a triumph made of feathers unfurling like frost across glass, delicate and beautiful, disarming, […]

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Driving Downtown

the other side breathes quiet   i hear many people have left      but the town  isn’t completely dead   yunno alive     but in ways that make you think zombies           think weevil-holed bean seeds       think half-healed bruises leaking pints of blood       […]

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The Credo of Loplop

Beneath the grattage of his dapper Dada I will always believe in the red-headed bird-king’s beak, a cardinal decalcomania peeling from the seams of his degenerate artist’s coat. When he fled his bare-feathered nest to sculpt the high desert, he was collaged already with childhood’s talons and quills. Solarized, enrobed in a lover’s ambiguity, he […]

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The Hole Thing

Now, let us gather to imagine the future. Here, in the Central Hall of Arts and Sciences as it was, before Victoria laid the first stone. Here, where the dead were annually raised, implored, exhorted, ectoplasmically embraced, Here, where Hiawatha musically wed, and Os-Ke-Non-Ton sang the medicine man, to Samuel Coleridge-Taylor’s once-loved score, Here where […]

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Love Poem: Phoenix

after Donika Kelly I see your eyes last, before dust. In any new required birth, what remains: plumage gold and striking, the black plucked skin beneath, palimpsested trial. Love, I would sing to you every blazing star, every hunted ballad               that burnishes. I would make a burnishing[1] of […]

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A Testament of Bloom

everyone thinks i dodged a bullet, i think i shot the gun.      —Greg Laswell   i don’t think pain is the only thing i inherited from my mother. yesterday, i was another shade of a zephyr and with every place i grazed, soliloquies replaced the emptiness i’ve always carried. frail/ grey/ the evening news/ […]

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