That’s the kind of man I am: I don’t believe in any lyric “I.” I don’t have time for any mind games. The “I” is either you or the poem’s a fraud.
Three poems by Julie Bloemeke
He set down my cup, showing me coffee trees,/ Corpus Christi costumes, the totora boats/ drying upward to the sky, the salt collectors/ in the Sacred Valley, sand.
Three Poems by Steven Cordova
“I’ll open a locker and there it’ll be—your head! ‘Thank God you found me!’ it’ll say. ‘I’ve been in here for days!’”
“So Now You Have To Write About the Dead Pheasant” by Karen Skolfield
You point to the pheasant. She’s sad, too. You’re both sad together.
“Lipstick for Your Vagina Is an Actual Thing Now” by Nicole Steinberg
The members of my online poetry workshop gear up to discuss sexual assaults of yore
“Dating and Biking in San Francisco” by Tomas Moniz
They both have bright red painted toenails. They wiggle their toes and swing their legs and laugh. I bike home feeling the world is a beautiful place.
“Everywhere” by Sarah Browning
This is where, in the poem,/I say that I am descended/from these motherfuckers
Three Poems by JC Reilly
A Ferret, a Stoat, and a Polecat//go into a bar. Wait, it isn’t that kind/of poem.
Three Poems by Jeannine Hall Gailey
Is she a victim or a villainess?/ You remember only a storm of swords and flame, /a flash of the white of winter, /the blue of a dragon’s eye.
“Bad News” by Amy King
She doesn’t know what the snow does/
to her pipes. But you do.
