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this man talks about how many sales his client expects
while this other man reads the business section of The Times.

this man screams on his phone,
screaming amongst 50 travelers,

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metro north
Justin Reynolds

in the pockets
in the stones
in the crystallized aversions of your eyes
slit open with the sun
and sky

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in the pockets
spb

Unorthodox

As the moon slides into its
murky wrap, the sky praises
its blackness, this obscurity

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Unorthodox
Claire T. Feild

Two arrived verdant-eyed
Onyx bloom
New
Bursting at the seams
Practically woven with

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Onyx With Verdant Between
Marie Gibb

I caught a thunderstorm in a bottle of green glass
it spilled over the lip,
the ruffled surface,
dense, thin, broken,
caught up, curved by meniscus of memory

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A Long Round Rain
Gordon Shephard

Furtive

In secret, the moon slides behind the shadowy
clouds. She had been full to us, children of the
wilderness who called her the blind sucker in the

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Furtive
Claire T. Feild

punches
thrown
at shadows in a low simmer glow
I can hardly see them
but

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out of the corner and off the ropes
Mat Gould

a love from the past calls
& i'm stuck inside an ornate ballroom
where an orchestra perpetually plucks
vivaldi's four seasons
& though it's spring

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210,240 hours
Justin Reynolds

I want to remind you of the days in my parent's basement
with one song on repeat and my best friends in
blue words amidst US history homework and
desperation for what was going to happen after
the next step: The Inevitable After.

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Au Printemps, or The Afterthought
R. Jones