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Returning After a Thunderstorm
The old tree. / Perfected the sun the grass / Shines the old tree. / / House on the hill, wood the auburn grey / Falls in May. / They…
From an Airplane Somewhere Over the Midwest
Eventually the luminous veins / of the city give way to / the fertile dark of earth and / sky. The sun has already / punctured the tenuous / …
Body parts lie scattered / across the asphalt desert / in the heat of her screams. / / My stomach stabs itself twenty-six times, / …
it started off good, but then got weird,…
We pumped our fists low and near our sides, almost like we were dancing in wheelchairs. / / Purses, drinks, coats and hats and keys and shirts…
More by Robert Moura
When I was eight years of age I lived near a forest of evergreens, Their needles strewn across the grounds, / And rocks like headboards…
Whether she knew or not / I had three wishes for her. / / The first was to replace / Those opal bones / And birch skin / With dyes from…
My name is Jonah and I work for food. / Today and tomorrow / We walk across fertile streets / To pick summer squash. / / When you pick the…
Last year we saw something, a ring around her eye. At first we did nothing, found some excuse, a watersport. But it grew darker and hurt her more....
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