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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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Leg

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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Rosemarie Dombrowski
that the inventory of the body is equivalent to the trauma that comes from crop-dust in our eyes . . .

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West Texas Literary Quarterly

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TR Brady
the river, the rocks banking the river, the rocks loved up on by the river, are sharp and naked and new as new as rocks can be and actual and ugly in their unnature.

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The Boiler

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Joan Naviyuk Kane
The light unevenly gray beyond the triple-pane: maybe neglected, or itself, self-filtering. Obscuring as it crystals into existence, as it opaques the hoar on the fence & bract to branch of all my trees. Our yard, my debt.

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University of Pittsburgh Press

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Benjamin Bush Anderson
                                  the tarp            atop the woodstack blue as an illustrated sea

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Second Factory

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