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they wish i didn’t plant myself / on the ground like a black seed / waiting for an uprising to bloom / while their song pollinates the air.
— If Colin Kaepernick's Knees Could Talk
 
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we decorate the wall / me, makeshift animal tasting his body & / man / what species invented boredom / a god’s plague / lust / Before kissing he asked me which body / I wanted & sighed / like surrender / when I held myself.
— Cruising Nereus
 
Short Poems In The Voice of Birds_Troy Kody Cunio (dragged) copy.png
i am moaning / for everything they took— / my home, my kin, and / yes, even, / for my predators.
— whooping crane
 
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no matter how many hands take aim / her own will always be the surest. jade / -veined & her eyes jaded as envy & all / the more precious for the colour.
— emilia, part one
 
The New Jersey Devil Washes the Blood Off (And Other Vignettes)_Linette Reeman (dragged) copy.png
someone I love is praying in another language / I don’t know all the words but I know / what it means—oh g-d of my specific trauma / o god of my specific hunger / blur my face / it has been splattered into someone else’s / lazy joke
— The New Jersey Devil Considers Parallels
 
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It’s enough. Teeth are temporarily purpled in real life and blacked-out pixel by pixel onscreen after a bloody scrap. Something inside the boys is glad to erupt. Chaos commences. The boy welcomes an elbow to the temple with a roar and a punch to the thigh. A cacophony of violent joy strolls through the house, awaiting the inevitable misinterpretation.
— I-shot-the-sheriff-town
 
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i summon the soft texture of love from absence’s mouth / leaning into the sickle moon’s quiet body your warm breath close / before i fall away from you into my own knowable place
 
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there’s so much to grieve over. / for instance, my ribs, / waiting to lie down in the / grass, waiting to become. / playground for beetles. feast for crows / i call this: inevitability.
— To Oates