Transatlantic

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  This alone. The man on the TSA line right in front of you, carrying caribou antlers. Yes, you drank. Yet no doubt. There he stands with the horns. And guess what. He looks like Ted Berrigan. He may be … Read More

Rumorville

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  Mathematicians don’t have friends. Astrophysicists: kinky. Oceanographers: beige, stringy, often unaware of holes in their hearts. Chronologists will not shut up. Chemists: introverted onanists who wear a single suit their entire life. Geologists smoke one pipe before breakfast. Archaeologists: … Read More

Truth I Tell

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  —after Sara Borjas   There is a footrest inside of me: lie. Everyone steps on it and never wants to leave: that is a lie. I give them water and teach them my loneliness: that is a lie. They … Read More

Marge Farrell

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  —after I Married a Monster from Outer Space (1958)   Who giveth this woman in marriage? Outside the Wee Kirk Chapel, in my coronet of white myrtle. Then, the bishop-pines, the broom corn. My bridegroom nuzzles me with feelers. … Read More

Kat Harvey

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  —after Casper (1995)   In Friendship, Maine, in the mansion of Whipstaff I waft in eyelet lace, floor-length out the steamer trunk.   There are steeples and myrtle and my dad, who says, ’Night, Bucket, Mom who said, Stardust … Read More

The Green Streetlight

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  The ineffable… I’ve walked into your trap. I went to a spring late at night and froze like an armless statue in the middle of an autumn garden. What should I do? Should I grab with my teeth the … Read More

Night Sky

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  Our troubles show up like stars disturbing the blank night, petty compared to the moon, jewel in a black velvet case, but grouped in constellations, what satisfying tales. The big and little dippers quench our thirst to be tragic … Read More

Everything I Let Go of

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  One of us is dead. One of us sleeps in his van, parked at the curb in front of his sister’s house. I’ve just retired.   In the morning I walk through the gray woods listening to the birds, … Read More

Let Me Copy the Rest of That Poem

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  Oh what longing, my dear young friend Each prison night I dream of your smile— Kissing my sleeve, I imagine your hair My lips are bitter, my body icy   Don’t hate the rain, my dear young friend I … Read More

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