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Haim Gouri
My Samsons Print Pages:  Page 272 from Issue 39 weariness into iron and youth into an open wound. ... them out of themselves.-translated by Robert Friend My Samsons Bairn Gouri Look, my Samsons are coming ... Crickets. Look, my Samsons are coming back, their Delilahs at their feet; they move along my boulevard. ...
Alfonso D'Aquino
[I am the insect from my forest]; [The sun opens its lips and tells us] Print Pages:  Page 103 ... from my forest] I am the insect from my forest Step by step astray among the grass Under the red shadow of the flowers Under the gentle rain of the afternoon In the clearest verdure I flap my wings And my shadow lifts ...
My Nymphomaniac Once when I was too young to know any god damn thing about women I stood ... then she reached her long fingers under the legs of my shorts and found me so my legs straightened out on their own as if I were at attention then she kissed my mouth so I couldn’t breathe my god and she pulled her ...
Funeral of My Character (paintings by Hikari Shimoda) What is lost is lost for good reason. Things turn bizarre when the canvas of my feelings is better off in front of the MacBook at home. Night may ... mug. Afternoon may pose questions like whether I need to put on a bra and wash my face ...
Elise Paschen
My Father's Gun; Stealing Print Pages:  Page 94 from Issue 95 TRIQUARTERLY Two Poems Elise Paschen My Father's Gun My mother never guessed I was her witness the afternoon she emptied out ... then place it back, her wedding stone refracting. Waking at night to find my door outlined by light, I made ...
Wayne Koestenbaum
Stanzas in My 39th Year Print Pages:  Page 215 from Issue 106 Stanzas in My 39th Year Wayne Koestenbaum Why I Want X in My 39th Year I used to be pretentious; then I grew simplistic. Should I devote ... escaped) that almost saved my life. I love concentrating, hugging a periphery or a hole: I wish I could ...
Arthur Rimbaud
My boheme Print Pages:  Page 194 from Issue 12 TWO POEMS BY ARTHUR RIMBAUD translated by Mark Malkas And I'd go on, hands in my broken jeans; My slicker, too, was turning grand; Out under heaven I'd go, Muse! your faithful hand; My stars! such lovely loves were all my dreams, My sole ...
Watching my Great-Uncle Shave, Johnstown, Pennsylvania, circa 1954 All memory revolves in fragments, my good doctor says, and the memories begun in trauma are the most shattered, like a white dinner ... and not quite light out yet, my father carried me to the door and then set me down. I was almost five years old, ...
David Hernandez
What a Little Charisma Can Do; Portrait of My Father Slapping His Ear Print Pages:  Page 154 from ... his head. More people accelerated than he would've liked so he came up with: Lost my job, my home, my snugglebug. That failed as well, as did: Honk if you're housing cobwebs inside your ...
Lauren Watel
Cast Out; Late Afternoon, Fort Greene; My Love, I Am Here; Addict Print Pages:  Page 102 from ... touch my face, my hair and I stare, seething in discontent, at people holding hands and I dare to take ... underground, you let go of my hand, you say "I love you" like a lament, you hurry ...

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