There are two worlds inside them: the world and the sky. (andrea rexilius)
and
Dear Gretl: You are walking to a city that is the city within you. (richard froude, from his book fabric that is coming out very soon)
and the new denver quarterly is out:
there was, inside the
memory, the rumour of a dollhouse;
all the furniture in immaculate order.
(j. mae barizo)
and the new octopus, which has these beautiful things (and it has my story of wind):
Tumors bud on the branch.
Pearling holly. Bruising plum.
(j. michael martinez)
and:
In Massachusetts the sun of winter
is disappearing behind a fragile field
of cloud like Emily Dickinson
rising from the bedclothes to fasten
her corset and stay inside all day.(katie peterson)
this too:
joanna ruocco's man's companions is something you might consider purchasing. it's so good, you might consider purchasing it twice:
my husband is a librarian. the overwhelming majority of librarians are females. they give my husband a lot of attention, some of it critical. my husband never criticizes his co-workers. there is a pecking order and my husband is at the top of it. he only complains about the pencils. i've seen them scattered on the tables, for the borrower's convenience. short pencils, diamonded by incisors, lipstick-stained. i never pick them up. they look like cigarettes in an adultery. i write call numbers with a pen from my purse.
i should be reading gulliver's travels.
