Charlie Howard’s Descent
By Mark DotyBetween the bridge and the river
he falls through
a huge portion of night
Calling poets to a greater role in public life and fostering a national network of socially engaged poets.
By Mark DotyBetween the bridge and the river
he falls through
a huge portion of night
By Jeff GundyA good day for late wildflowers--daisies and burrs
leaned out into the path for a better view, brilliant
blue somethings with tiny blooms on tall stalks.
By Alison Roh ParkIf it were not so scarred from your accidental
rages—uptown, upstate—I would have rested
on the cinder block of your chest.
By Heather DavisThe lights in your home channel 29 men, their
soot stained clothes, last breaths, crystalline sweat
let loose on black rock
By Lauren K. AlleyneHere is the night snarled with stars, here is the smile
full of teeth. Here is the bloom of desire, its scent swift
entering everything. Here are the arms, the legs, the heady
By Gregory PardloUnfinished, the road turns off the fill
from the gulf coast, tracing the bay, to follow
the inland waterway.
By Chris AugustAmerica, don’t we love like oil?
Don’t our slippery arms
Pave the pores of those who need us?
By Camille T. DungyPause here at the flower stand-mums
and gladiolas, purple carnations
dark as my heart.
By Jody BolzPages flit above the ruined bookstalls.
Blank or dark with words, it doesn’t matter:
paper is as dangerous as ink—as thought.
By Carly SachsWhere does memory go?
Our windows looking out on the bay,
my wet clothes hanging on the antlers