That one bag night, he led me by my wrists As if I couldn’t walk
Poetry 88
Rachel Button: Long Distance I
Iowa: Beside cornfields, you bicycle, corduroy sweeping
spokes, tuffs of blond blowing,
glasses fogged by cold. You’re on your way
James Ineich: A Recursion of Babies
First, a bed made of sleep. Then, rubied crowns stacked into kings or cracked into
jesters.
Matthew Burgess: Gentlemen Prefer Gentlemen
Poolside in a cruise
ship gymnasium
Jane’s scene opens
Matthew Burgess: Nocturne
Maybe an orange
will help. Or a
Minneola tangelo.
Matthew Burgess: Inner Meats
The way this sunrise pools thickly
onto brick tenements like mnemonic