[excerpts:]

*

They do that out of anger, which we do out of love. One hates to think of their
Wretched and wretched-making emotions.

I shall denounce them at the top of my voice, though a whisper is sufficient to kill.
I’ll right my crooked sword on a fresh anvil and run yelling into their ranks.

I’ll say to my modular strophes: Show off the tone in your arms, my girls;
Polish your jewels, use your eyes shooting fire out of cunning and girlish faces.

For my 580 are viral, are contagious, are venereal. Their every
Dimple delivers ordnance; their kissable navels are poisoned. [...]

—from "They Do That out of Anger Which We Do Out Of Love",
part of "The 580 Strophes" by Anthony Madrid

*

CLIMATE CONTROL

don’t shoot
I’ll be late
to Ice Capades
and my children
will kill me
with their toy guns
and real knives
I am a nice guy
in the economy lot
long-term I expect
small bouts of joy
and large boats
will sail by
right through me

—by Heather Christle

*

[untitled]

—happy birthday,
(Paul Celan)

If were the last
Words impossible & this
telling a story a body
left here a stream coming
over & how you once never
dared the expression now
A tree nakedness in the levee &
our voices circle as
any misfortune passes
yet air in the touching time sound
The once all encompassing
river what if we
see & astonished walk clear

—by John High