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Christina Lloyd
I.            Vertebrae speckle the screen,
Mark Jarman
My father returns as a luna moth,a green hand under the porch light.He comes back as a tree frog on the kitchen window,
Tishani Doshi
Girls are coming out of the woods,wrapped in cloaks and hoods,carrying iron bars and candles
Benjamín Naka-Hasebe Kingsley
My ma                   said agony said hurt                   said she’d be damned
John Koethe
We’re always other people, whoever they are.I’m grateful to poets’ biographies—a genre nearly asObsolete as its subjects—for helping me make myself up,
Kerri Webster
What I needed to survive was, currentsmoving over my body.Also, bourbon.
Mary Donnelly
Everything is carved from boneeverywhere. Ships and shoes andhardhats to mimic the skull.


Bruce Bond
Out of the body of the beloved: the lovethat bears one name as it sheds the older
Marcelo Hernandez Castillo
I’ve never made love to a man. I’ve never made love to a man but I imagine.
Aimee Nezhukumatathil
When I’m happy I can smile twice at the same time.So thin—a marker-tip line with a waxy shine—a vein of a maple leaf, a dog’s upper lip, arm of anemone.