lesser life

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Lesser LIfe
Carlos Drummond de Andrade

Translation

Vida menor

Photo by Martin Adams on Unsplash

Battle

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Battle
Yrsa Daley-Ward

Loving someone who hates
themselves
is a special kind of violence.
A fight inside the bones.
A war within the blood.

 

theories of time and space

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Theories of Time and Space
Natasha Trethewey

You can get there from here, though
there’s no going home.

Everywhere you go will be somewhere
you’ve never been. Try this:

head south on Mississippi 49, one—
by—one mile markers ticking off

another minute of your life. Follow this
to its natural conclusion—dead end

at the coast, the pier at Gulfport where
riggings of shrimp boats are loose stitches

in a sky threatening rain. Cross over
the man-made beach, 26 miles of sand

dumped on a mangrove swamp—buried
terrain of the past. Bring only

what you must carry—tome of memory
its random blank pages. On the dock

where you board the boat for Ship Island,
someone will take your picture:

the photograph—who you were—
will be waiting when you return

five by seven

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Five by Seven
Natalie Shapero

Photo by Dimitri Iakymuk on Unsplash

 

what milkman leaps for

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What Milkman Leaps For
francine j. harris

Photo by Sangga Rima Roman Selia on Unsplash

jim limber

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Jim Limber in Heaven is a Nexus at which the Many Heavens of the Multiverse Converge
Shane McCrae

Photo by Kristaps Ungurs on Unsplash

books

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Books
Andrei Codrescu

death covers me with fine dust.
i love used fat books. they are
like used fat bodies coming out of sleep
covered with fingerprints and shiny
snail trails.
i wish to read the way i love:
jumping from mirror to mirror like a drop of oil
farther and farther from my death.
but god gives us fat books and fat bodies
to use for different reasons
and less a metaphor i cannot say
what haunts me

Photo by Robert Anasch on Unsplash

50

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Fifty
Christian Wiman

“Renouncing kingship like a snot of phlegm”
I go out into the park. I have my death with me,
iron friend, and a few feather regrets
that one by one lift from me in the wind.
I have two daughters and one cloud, an old oak
and a great love, elected solitude, given sun.
There never was a now this golden one.

Photo by Simon Wilkes on Unsplash

the subject of retreat

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The Subject of Retreat
Yona Harvey

Your black coat is a door
in the storm. The snow
we don’t mention
clings to your boots & powders
& puffs. & poof. Goes.
Dust of the fallen. Right here
at home. The ache
of someone gone-missing. Walk it off
like a misspoken word.
Mound of snow. Closed door.
I could open it.

Or maybe just, you know—
brush it off.

Then what? The snow
on the other side. The sound
of what I know & your, no, inside it.

 

Photo by Yang Deng on Unsplash

on starting

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On Starting
Phil Kaye

Your ideas are fish
you are trying to catch
with your bare hands

only with a quiet mind
is the surface glassy enough
for you to plunge your arms below
hold on to
the squirming gift
wide-eyed & fat
stunned at its own reflection
as it inhales out of the water