when Missouri prisms up the glass / like the clear pink yes of Sunday morning: / I’ll exit.
A spider the size of a baseball, just in time for opening day, more or less as poisonous as the mine’s boarded-up air.
Longing to go home, we balance freedoms in still-soft palms, swaddle guns like babies, and carry them close to our chests as we march in the bone-splitting cold. Heading straight as the crow, we invite history to circle round.
outline of a head or of a seated figure with a child / is covering what it opens around. Here, someone said, / please take this.
To Shower After Four Days
after autocorrect said losing my boyfriend = losing my life raft
Vanessa Angelica Villareal
Nathan Wade Carter
Vi Khi Nao
Sheep Machine (One)
Haley Rene Thompson
Diver, Dive into Me
Nancy Chen Long
Continual Process Improvement for the Astute Young-Adult Student, Or Lesson as Lesion