Latest Writing
POETRY
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LIFT by Muriel Nelson
Doubt seems to be in. The worry drill whirs where the dote is. Where the face was a vacancy. And yet the ear is occupied waiting, for there are other root canals, so you (mis)heard. No doubt the fire’s hunger whirls
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SPELL I by Mary Lou Buschi
After Louise Glück 1. Somewhere, my brother is traveling— The right side of his head a red-clawed tulip swallowing the cold.
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HOOK ECHOES by Kevin Heaton
Sunshowers spit-shined the shark’s tooth that gutted Kansas’ only diamondback. You were just a puff adder feigning rattles— scavenging rat droppings with field mice in bales of switchgrass. I want tallgrass. I want a thunder god with flashes of ego—
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