Poetry
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HALO, by Ben Tufnell
Just days after placing the book on the shelf I run a finger across the cover and leave a faint wake of darkness.
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PRO-NUN-SEE-AY-SHUN, by Bediye Topal
You tell me to shape sounds with my mouth. I tell you, I have left my tongue behind.
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WILL SHE EVER PUNCTU8 HIM?, by Bediye Topal
he is an endless incoherent sentence in her body if she questions him words will blur letters will change their position explain to me will be
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I HAVE NOTHING NEW TO SAY, by Sinéad MacInnes
SINÉAD MACINNES On your whistle-stop tour of the Highlandsand Islands our whispers are saidto be heard by native ears O Dhiadè rinn iad? Oh God what have they done? Aon.One. The Barabhas moor on Lewis is empty. Leòdhas –…
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A SINGLE NOTE, by Fabrice Poussin
He reached into the darkness for the midnight drink to find the glass empty.
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THE FALL OF TROY, by William Doreski
A false dawn awakens us. The right time, when the cloud-facts explain us to each other and absorb the spilled light.
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LITTLE THIEVES, by Susan Gordon Byron
Dali’s clocks were sincere. They slipped over things, slid past and took nothing with them. They changed. Or I changed them.
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