Soon my attic will fill with spinach
and sea horses that stable my shoes
will lick wisps of fur from the corners
of my eyes. The moon will rise then sink
its ass on my couch, the rat will counsel
the lamb of god. It’s what’s for dinner
that matters in my sea cup, my easter
bowl. I’ll put on my shoes, pick up a pin,
walk down the street, crawl back in.
--William Sanders
Nora Almeida: Integral #1 Integral #2 Integral #3
Richard Pearse: A Woman Cloud Young and Angry at the Moon
Olga Pester: the roof of merger refrigerator memo
Joe Robitaille: Oleo Strut Oligarchy Strychnine The Rest of Lamps
William Sanders: Easter Poem [another poem by W. Sanders (& another)]
Sarah Sarai: hAve You Been Married, the Sister asK
Pietro Scorsone: After Tomorrow Random 1-4
