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Two Poems by Yona Harvey


I hesitate invoking that      doubled emptiness: open—
my daughter’s mouth      in the bathroom mirror—
not her first vanity      but first blood inkling
she tastes & smoothes      with her tongue.

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Foul Mouth by Devin Murphy


For the last hundred miles, Brooks’ ten-year-old son, Adler, had been yelling profanities out the window. It started during a break from driving. To stretch their legs they jogged down a rural road along the wire fence separating the pavement from endless rolling hills of grazing land.

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Three Poems by Craig Morgan Teicher



Beckoned by the things you’d go back for but can’t, you push on, dragging the past behind like a vestigial tail, out of use but undeniably a living part of you, the thing, really, by which you define yourself: lizardo, can-kicker, backward-glancer tripping over a ripple in the road…

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