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Month: April 2017

siesta

Posted on 13/04/2017 by Mark Prisco

If I shut my eyes to it, I can strike low..   hit a high c, machete weeds cringing in the undergrowth; burn   villagers who, a few short years ago, in turn, stormed here, now mere non-distinct individuals, but still..   The air is dead still but for a stray whistler   even the…

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Sit Down, Friend

Posted on 12/04/201727/05/2017 by john keast

Sit down, friend And drink this. This one’s for Jimmy. For his voice, and passion – The way he leaned into a song, Rode the microphone And this is for Tom. Yeah, he liked a drink. Or did. He joked to Letterman That it got in the way – Of jogging. Imagine that: Tom in…

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prep

Posted on 11/04/2017 by Mark Prisco

the hand shakes the rag, wields the steel-bristled brush;   thinks nothing of the web, the daddy-longlegs;   and it, or she, sees nothing of the world, which is   more elaborate, complex, than hers,   the air from which she builds her construction.

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The Plough

Posted on 11/04/201727/05/2017 by john keast

See how the ploughman looks back to cut well, His frame turned on an iron seat to see the quality of cut, Where the silver boards slice and fold the black earth on itself; How he tinkers and measures, two wheels in the gutter. Slow and even now, there is no need for speed –…

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sigh

Posted on 10/04/2017 by peterlebaige

sigh hear the sigh of autumn from leaf to last cicada down the oak and elm branch tip to the root in damp a sigh in pale cloud even the moon cannot save from tearing within its glow the sigh of old pictures where faces are cast as if in crumbling metal a shine that’s…

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from Things Are Wrong Though Fair Enough

Posted on 10/04/201714/05/2018 by Dean English

I’d begun to think it was a crime to have and to hold more than we need the marvellous thing of keeping you interested—is it so? like a light bulb before the mind goes it gives an intensified clarity? I knew how the walls were telescopic how the skin is the edge of the universe…

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Children And The Playgrounds Shame

Posted on 07/04/2017 by Editor

The beat at the moment is fast Those trumpeted jazz tones are a little slow I want to hear the sax bleed up the tempo Those drum hands going a little faster I can’t swing that low to low No duwop for me This is the way I hold myself afar I am something you’ll…

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from Nowhere/ Always/ Everywhere. #2

Posted on 05/04/201725/04/2017 by Dean English

        They drove off, waving from the backseat, on the wrong side of the road at first because the Moving Truck was still reversing in. the Bulb invents its filament, Lightning stalks the lonely, and the over-celebrated. Death: a living body… Form: a Life imagined; exercised athletic substance excursions running mountains kayaking…

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The Bluebird

Posted on 03/04/201727/05/2017 by john keast

He held a hand in a hand, Kneading the joints. A tired etched bluebird looked north Between thumb and forefinger, The arch of its nose lost in folds of sunken skin. He was at a loss, consumptive lungs begging For the still chapel air As they sang How Great Thou Art. He rose with the…

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