156 lede

Whip the Bones by Melissa Wiley

This is HOW SHE BAKES her body into a soufflĂ©. Without access to bowls, eggs, or oven, she crosses her arms into a knot tied with ligaments. She stares at pillows cross-stitched with leaves hardened into lemons. Only the leaves are attacked by butterflies, she can’t help but notice. The leaves have no trees while the butterflies are monstrous.
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The porous buoy. by Michael Scott


It had an eye like a glossy blackcurrant, dead and alive.

The previous night had all been a low rise motorway service stations with a mysterious enemy jet flaring NASA sized nostrils as they skimmed the terrain and away.

Masked Lapwing. (+2 = 3) animal poems by Ion Corcos

Stands rigid
on one pale leg,
the other tucked

its brown wings,
a piece of bark
fallen onto grass.

It does not fly,
keeps the ground
close to itself

Somewhat Forbidden Transitions. by Susan Plant

Cool blasts of slow fluorescence
Drop vague never-shifting shadows from
Filing cabinets desks computers—
Shadows like humid
Visibility, air
You can see, like refugee
Rain clouds inspissipated in this
Funereal, strangely
Unreal place—
And moving with members
Of the staff reveal
Visual transitions
Somewhat forbidden.
More light than heat.

Michael Hrejsa 's 3 Poems


poem #4, "FLOOD MY BLOOD"

i extend my arms
okay
a man raises his and
they fall
from 2" past my elbow

From Gao. by Francis Annagu

Any time
Spaced between sun and dark
Is hours of sweet liquor bought
From beer circulatory desks.
Friday
Tafsir was bind-holy Sura's
Urging his holiness

Jenn Blair's Consider the Earth

clinging to the roots
of the wild onions pulled
from the garden each spring.
Holding fast to thin white
filament, heedless the
whole enterprise is failing;
resolute, even when shaken—
refugees quietly settling the
shallow lines of your palm,
still hopeful for asylum
in the murderous country.