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Things change

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Words

Excerpt from Postscript #29

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There have been more baby ghosts lately with few fit for heaven. The air in the room is toxic. The government feels threatened thinks...

The Rocking Chair Song

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Be aware of the midnight knock, the one that sends you breathless out under moth veiled streetlights, no time to grab a toothbrush or...

When Hurricane Hearts Discuss Retrogrades

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Roguish Mercury went on a wicked mission this round, squared up with Pluto to shine racism in the limelight— Black boy shot at for needing school...

walking through

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i’ll walk into your forests and in the shadows of your mind i’ll walk along these winding paths to see what i might find i’ll walk...

September Dawn

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The swift and cold pre-autumn rain,  Will not, dear life, have come in vain.  The last burst of green life given In dried beds of aged creeks...

TWO MODELS

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“Game recognises game” Popular saying Used in someBlack people’sConversations Normally blurted outWhen one seesTheir best qualitiesIn another. Example given: Back in the 1950s,A FloridaCheesecake modelDidn’t want toLimit herself to...

Pearl Street, 2020

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This was supposed to be the year that I returned,to the breathtaking views of the Rockies,to the aroma of fresh-ground coffee,to the fragrances of...

Face The Dirt

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I’m observing the frighteningdangerously changing era of anothertrembling foundation,the rapidly turning event unravel... it seems the...

While Your Parents Danced

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in the next room, their heels skimming over dark oak to Sinatra and Como and Bennett crooning from the dusty stereo, we lay in your small bed, sheets thrown...

Small Window

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I discern a tiny space in one of fifteen minutes; two days later, I deduce which one, approach it and peer inside (can’t tell whether it’s bright or dark), hoping to glimpse a poem — or the closest edge of one. Jethro McClellan was born in Boston, moved out West before he turned five, and has called Boulder home for most of his life....

WANDERER

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tea leaves spell out my thursday blues my mother calls it restless mind.  Plastic tulips sit on my nightstand so that at least one thing is timeless  every morning the sun sinks into my chambers invitation...

Dirty Work

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Eleanor’s childhood was still standing at the corner of Maple and Eighth. It had always been, seemed like it always would be. When she...