Cara Schiff

Death for Sale He sells death. Night black pistols,brassy bullets.Rifles sardined ina car trunk. The house is plaid curtains,their dust still.  In back,swing set chains rustwithout small hands.The gate squeaks.  He hides the money in the flower pots,buckets under the sink.Plastic-covered bricks of billsfloat in every toilet tank. He stuffs cash in his couch,moving his arm like a thiefprobing a…

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Eos and Tithonus

When I crept out ofbed for workyou were sostillI thought you had actually died.As a garbagetruck roared by,I wishedI could wrap you inmy saffronbathrobeand carry youevery morning.Or that I could transformyou into a cricketto hear youchat freely withthe dusk. You saidyou thoughtyouwanted to live foreverwith me,so that wecould climb intoa spaceship and watchsocietyfall apart. But,nowit seemsin your palingmind…

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The Art of Sacrifice

When the old origamimelted, the crash of pieces formed ushymnal-print white down where the tilted dayfirst moved in the clefts  glistening over scattered moss and aboriginal hoofs that had escaped the ghostbut not the blood. Dividing the furlike a mountain silhouettegradually erased by a darkening red atmosphere, ripe green swordsbore our faces under the fetal chandelierof giant stars.  by Daniel Gillespie …

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john sweet: six poems

like sunlight, like chrome mouths always hungry, alwaysopen and dirty hands shovelingin shit, got to keep thefuckers alive if you want tokeep selling them whatever itis that’s made you rich, gotto bleed the fuckers just so much,just so far, got to give them aline of credit then take it awaythen give it back again, thosefat little…

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Gaia Elemental

To wind that blows from better dayswith the scent of mint and honeysuckle,I thank you for this breath of fresh airin weather long past prediction. To sun that sets into the oceanwhose water does not dowse,I warm my hands tonighton the campfire you set today. To rain that cleans and coolsthe wounds and thirsts for more,from cupped…

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C Carol poems

coffee ring residue she said, lately i’m as comfortingas a cup of day-old, microwaved coffee i told her, silly kitten – you don’t drink java you’re missing the point where were you saturday night?why did you stumble home at 4:00 AM?who were you with? no one; no body (spoke Odysseus, the liar) credit cards leave a paper traillike little, extramarital breadcrumbs she…

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