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Giovanni Pascoli (translated from the Italian by Geoffrey Brock)
Three grapes, Giacinto, grow upon these vines: The first is pleasure, and is clear as air; the next is sweet amnesia. Drink their wines,                                       yes—but stop there . . .

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World Poetry Books

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Nava EtShalom
I woke up from marrying my father; the window let in a little streeplamp shine. None of us knew what time it was. The streetlamp thought three. The boy thought morning, and started to wake.

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Carnegie Mellon University Press

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Marjorie Welish
                                    Itself Sedentary in another language is language as such           Whether or not we can read it, sought          Because home. . .

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Coffee House Press

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Brigit Pegeen Kelly
Strange about the kills we get without intending them. Because we are pointed in the direction of something. Because we are distracted at just the right moment, or the wrong.

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BOA Editions

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Shuri Kido (translated from the Japanese by Tomoyuki Endo & Forrest Gander)
A long slope. The sun dipped, and finally sank. No matter how long I walked, I stayed in "the middle of the road." The name torn into pieces. Just keeping on, climbing higher and higher I'd completely forgotten the name.

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Harvard Review

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Peter Filkins
Shy panzer of the swamp, atavistic in your haughty calm, you blink at us encapsulated in our swanky Prius . . .

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Johns Hopkins University Press

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Danusha Laméris
I think of how I've come to call her sister, dropping the suffix. We've known each other since she was three and I was six. And I don't know what a sister is if not an other, a fragile mirror, space of tenderness. Female, and mortal, and afraid.

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The Southern Review

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Parker Hobson
There is a thin, curvy line between laughter and slaughter, I try yelling to you on the roller coaster but my timing is off, our shark bodies flung into runaway cursive, vestigial Converses dragging serifs across the clouds.

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32 Poems

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Derrick Austin
              Today I'm happy by myself wandering this creek's paths of sand and crushed shells,               what used to be submerged.

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BOA Editions

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Jane Wong
Above: my neighbor's feet,                         fussing from room to room,                 velvet hooves                     tendering my head. Was the fruitcake curdling? Would the mail make it there on time? (it must                 make it there on time)?

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Alice James Books

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