Poetry Daily
Justin Phillip Reed
There it goes, thin thing,                 cheshiring between trees                                     whose reaper-robes trail                                     their trains deep underground:                 your life, hangin out
from the book The Malevolent Volume / Coffee House Press
Francisco Aragón
the fountain mingles with his fate— song of my own cascade
Dawn Davies
...and by "late hours" they both know she meant his cheating with the tiny Castilian woman two zip codes over, and this thought that poisoned her days now propelled her to stomp on his mailbag and kick it off the porch for all that the mailbag stood for: the overtime, the philandering, the childless Castilian with the twenty-two inch waist.
Jane Mead
And under all this now a steady grating— a plastic bottle of blue cheese dressing scraping up against the concrete gutter, bobbing off the aqua, sun-flicked waves the kids have made by jumping.
Megan Fernandes
the girl with the fake lashes knows i like a double gin and i am telling sam that i am a dog who was converted when i was seventeen and my mother found an essay about how i was in love with a girl and there was a portishead reference

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