Latest Writing
POETRY
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DEAR SUBURB, by David Roderick
Some blunt hammering set me off, that and the teeth of a saw. I left behind my sweater, the remains of a sandwich, my camera, some paperweights, my lament. I left behind a few weak coals I’d blown alive.
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AUBADE IN PIECES by Victoria Lynne McCoy
Even as I deliver my body to the subway’s tenebrous mercy, I cannot un-know this: each time daylight invades our limbs, the sun marching its restless armies up the sheets, my love will put entire states between us
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MAP (7) by Ye Chun
7. Olympia, Washington The Pacific Ocean shovels coals in the distance. My drunk friends drop pebbles at me as I lie on the couch losing water. Be happy, be happy, be happy. I’m trying to see spring sprout, mountain that smells like green apple,
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