Cortney Lamar Charleston

The Migratory Patterns of Lovebirds   At dusk, I watch the wind seduce foliage through the binoculars of an aesthete, taken by how the petals dance like flames thankful for a brief life. The days are shortening. An explosion of silence will arrive soon, the temperature will descend to indifference. In the wake, tree limbs will…

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Cassandra Morrilly

This Might Be The End I took a pen from the bedside table at the hotel the one off the highway near the salt marshes, the highway with two lanes, lined with the swell of seawater rot. The floodwater had just subsided and the air was biting. Lots of things had been lost. I drove…

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Searching

Dublin’s rowdy streets surround me, shops shackle me to my routines, Rome’s old Kyries rape me, England’s imperialist memories break me, America’s black and white fifties families flash ever before my eyes. I find the key, gasping for breath, no more breakdowns or suffocating, flying-driving-running through dirty demonic Dublin pubs, roadlines-shrines-bright green fields yield to…

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Cutfinger

The moon’s red-faced hymen is crestfallen; eclipsed by a trilogy of cloven sol kisses.   Our universe is not one.   Mechanical bulls are wrangling in ‘The House of the Rising Sun.’ The sorority girls are all bowlegged from bar shopping their reversible jeans. Their frat boys left snipe hunting for lost birds of paradise….

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Bounty, Ground

Miss Sandy is the kind of equestrian who requests the counsel of her gelding, Saul, on matters she involves herself in. “Saul,” she asks in a tiny voice that is compelled by the standing on her tippy toes. “Saul my darling boy, what should I say to the diggers?” She told him they’d been there…

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Blondie

Beached What Found in NYC is Dead -CBS news headline, 12/27/2012   What is it on the shore among the cockle shells and sea grass, the beached thing, swelling, gulls pecking at the sores: this question straining to breathe under its own gravity. The biggest questions exist uneasily here. I love when they call me…

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