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Back from the Lab

Brian Teare   i. Consultation: X-ray  —What are your symptoms?                                       Four times                                       the room blinks. —How do you feel today?                                       My legs                                      akimbo. Whitecoat.                                       A table, steel. —How long have you felt this way?                                      Four pin-up positions,                                  …

Ars Poetica at the Speed Art Museum

Marci Johnson   “Pompeii” 1990 C-Print Richard Ross. A dead turkey wearing a wig.                                           Lost: one child, 4 years old, have you seen … ? A man in an electric chair                                         on a…


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Poetry Marc McKee

…I favor containment, I favor détente

because otherwise, the we I am

makes pilgrimages to elevators

to await their fulfillment…

And The Lord God Made Garments of Skins

Poetry Marc McKee

First we are dirt and then we are dirt.

Or spit. It is dangerous to be certain.

In between, there is much registration,

miles of black electrical tape…

Underwater City

Kelle Groom   He walked into the lake as if it were grass, to float a second in its light, disappear, be a place. The cypress trees up to their knees in water, coiled ladders reading the necklace of his DNA.         High sky, a canoe figuring the circumference, underneath the hull wavery with smudges,…

“Cold dark deep and absolutely clear”

“Cold dark deep and absolutely clear” ~Elizabeth Bishop   Sandra Marchetti The water a sheet of beat tin, it is a June song in March, ripples for welcome. Army and gray colors tell us why the season resists the call of our bodies; displayed on the nightstand, the interior brave replica of summer, stilted in…

Island Park

Sandra Marchetti    According to local legend, in the last century numerous      suicide attempts have taken place off the railroad bridge in this Geneva, Illinois park. We chased the heron, the bridge, a rafting concrete wave hefted high. My jaw dredged across the watery flood blood— green water and open to receive me off…


Issue 11.1 Fall 1981 Simon Perchik   How far will our shadows stay empty before the strongest stars give up —this paving too, a weightless mask. Pull. We will load the Earth, fill this street with more dark, give our gangling shadows a burden, tame them to carry away our deepest selves, and at night…

Gauley River

Melissa Tuckey   It was the lightest sort of rain one could drown in it without knowing In the mountains an ark skeleton of whale Late night you can hear him on the radio saying follow me or drown I listen when I am out of coffee I remember you filed your nails with a…

When the Giraffes Come

Melissa Tuckey   The last days of July we walk past an oak struck by lightning bark blown hundreds of feet above the creek and hanging rocks and Pete asks will you put all of this in a poem? And will I include the part about giraffes taking over the continent? And the elephants fucking…