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Poetry 6.3

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Poetry, Vol. 6.3, Sept. 2012 Outside the window, the building disappears one brick at a time, one steel rod after...
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Poetry, Vol. 6.3, Sept. 2012 a man today. First come the legs: sawed-off lengths of bumpers from busted Ford Broncos....
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Poetry, Vol. 6.3, Sept. 2012 for A. B. Klinkhamer Your wore champagne pajamas and crossed your legs as your father...
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Poetry, Vol. 6.3, Sept. 2012 Ireland is a great country to die or be married in. –Elizabeth Bowen I don’t...
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Poetry, Vol. 6.3, Sept. 2012 Last night coyotes hunted in the pastures surrounding our farmhouse, monotonous like the single-colored eye....
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Poetry, Vol. 6.3, Sept. 2012 Lavish lights over Atlanta wish away the plum skin dark, wish the night transposed into...
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Poetry, Vol. 6.3, Sept. 2012 Because it doesn't take all day to simmer, this gazpacho windy with cucumber. In the...
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Poetry, Vol. 6.3, Sept. 2012 Here autumn is a fish. Your standard golden trout with the red horizontal band and...
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Poetry, Vol. 6.3, Sept. 2012 Es ist nicht! - Franz Ferdinand I’ll decree an emerald for your ear. I’ll have...
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Poetry, Vol. 6.3, Sept. 2012 During the troop review, the Archduchess nodded into her ostrich plumes and pearls while I...
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