Morning gaudy bully,
done up in sun glare,
houses go nowhere
with dangling earrings.
The eaves don evening wear
for record breaking lows.
Smudgy eyes bleared with
blinding blasé.
Winter's slick leather jacket,
he bent every side road.
He shrugs one roof corner,
shrugs a spiked epaulette.
What's it to him? Cancellation,
one more snarl at crash-careening,
what's it to him, when we all stop
for his white motorcade?
Backyard day woods,
deep woods, way back,
scorched woods,
scored with heavy wet,
dowdy and without birds.
Tantrum flung droplets, planted
deep in the drifts.
Leaves are embellished,
curled into surprise.
The cold unseats us all,
immobile, vulnerable.
Sarah Ann Winn's poems have appeared or will appear soon in Cider Press Review, Massachusetts Review, Quarterly West, Nashville Review, and RHINO, among others. Recently, her piece "Field Guide to Alma Avenue and Frew Drive" was a finalist for Tupelo Quarterly's Prose Open contest, judged by Joanna Howard. Her chapbook, Portage, was released by Sundress Publications. Find her at bluebirdwords.com, or you can follow her @blueaisling on Twitter.
Jill Khoury
[posterior vitreous detachment]
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Mouth-Off (III)
The Serbo-Croatian language
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no baby but the poem is about you
Jessica Schouela
The Funeral
Chris Campanioni
Working Models
Sarah Ann Winn
Suburban Thaw
Rolling Acres Mall, Abandoned
Cynthia Conte
Number three star: Fast years
Diane Gage
Nanobiomaximum
Dear John (Cage)
John Lowther
a sonnet from 555
Rebecca Yates
What is "Emoji"?
Glen Armstrong
Archivist
Marta Ferguson
The Nether as Pizza Parlor
September Hinkle
Surviving Charlie