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Issue 39.2 Fall 2010 Janann Dawkins   The chlorophyll remains in leaf: the limbs retain their hair: the trees do not believe the sun will set on them. They think the film of heat is normal—that it will revive their energies. Their organelles deceive them. Arctic air is coming: the frigid winds decelerate, creep at…


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Issue 39.2 Fall 2010 Janann Dawkins   Chalk clouds scrawl the starlit black, the dust of heat and space, the galaxies puffed into clusters. Relation: Earth is a pencil head, nub of meaning, less than the grain that orbits it. A meteor, graver than its neighbors, swerves: it means to pock, it moves unanswered. Apocalyptic…

Toward the Burning Lamp

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J. Michael Martinez   after “The Movement of the Universe” c. 1450-1500 Flemish, possibly Tournai tapestry 415 x 800 (163 3/8 x 315) Museo de Santa Cruz, Toledo “Thus adorned with the fixed stars the sky revolves under the pole both through the region of the North Wind and the South Wind; according to their…

Given away

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Killarney Clary   Given away. This is the end of the longest night. We are never certain; often the darkness is all of all of us, but here is the loose end of a spiral we hadn’t even noticed. I will believe what I see until, between the shadows, the circles turn to crescents, or…

She’s worried about the roll of the boat

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Killarney Clary   She’s worried about the roll of the boat. He will sit wherever she wants, asks her if she’d like to lie down. She lays her head against her sweater on his lap and they both close their eyes, a few of his fingers tucked under her upper arm, his other hand ordinary…

I list in my mind what I have left to do

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Killarney Clary   I list in my mind what I have left to do. I don’t need to do anything. I am this close to the heart of my life. Nothing left to buy; I’ve written a last postcard. “Let me come inside,” I plead. Inside what, and who’s to answer? What remains is my…

Maybe they’re all singing to themselves

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Killarney Clary Maybe they’re all singing to themselves, alone in malls, against foot traffic on sidewalks. A small dark boy kneeling, rubs the chest of a limp man in the parking lot of the 7-eleven; he’s done this before. I can feel the inside of my skin. Don’t Walk/Walk. I am a package that moves…

Reading The Metaphysical Club in Egypt, Texas

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Issue 38.2 Fall 2009 Marc McKee   Standing in the middle of a land this vast              you can nearly apprehend the curvature                                          of the earth. Every weight seems connected, each measure            inept.  Venus tonight brighter than the stars            over this ex-plantation house, one pillar                an…

How We Respond is What It Means

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Issue 38.2 Fall 2009 Marc McKee   At this time it is impossible not to love at least one monster.  Venom laces the air, you are in a house with the feeling of every light in every room turned on and so to turn them off is to discover again and again what makes a…


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Issue 33.2 Fall 2004 Sueyeun Juliette Lee   silence meant that there were disconnections in the atmosphere, the inner hairs of my ears curling into themselves without a quiver or lightest touch of alarm. plenary attitudes detach, disengage themselves from the white washed walls striking poses in the afternoon. distance meant that there were spaces…