Ana Pugatch
I cup the frozen body of evening, trace the lines that creep along the beetle's velvet shell.
from the book Engrams: Seven Years in Asia / Redhawk Publications
Afaa M. Weaver
We count our wishes, to be free, to be at ease, to be in abundance. Above us spirits whirl in a thunderhead
Elisa Gonzalez
My little brother was shot, I tell the barista who asks how things     have been, and tip extra for her inconvenience. We speak only to the dead,  someone tells me— to comfort, I assume, or inspire,
Michael Dumanis
Am always arabesquing after Abigails.  Am always afraid: an affliction?

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