Wright one
Type
Poetry

After the festival

I tend to judge the wildness of a night

by how often you say bitches. There always used to be

a car, at least, on fire. There’s that obsession

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Coleman 1
Type
Poetry

To the only begetter

Like rope and pulley work to hold up pink

and stodgy cherubs. Like the apple of my

iPhone, faint of charge. Like the superfluity

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Wilkinson crop
Type
Poetry

Serenade

Wide open chords raise a blue night on the orange grove
of crossed lines. We angle towards metaphor, as if art
travels deeper through weird parallel: arms might be

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