from Cognitive Deficit Market, by Joshua Corey
. . . . Meanwhile above it all
she’s setting out the tea things: ceramic cup and saucer,
little pewter spoon, pebbled iron pot, a slice
of Sara Lee. Waiting to remember
to turn the radio on, listen for the elevator, for
the lock to turn or a knock
on the door.
from deer & salt block, by Josha Marie Wilkinson
. . . Another boy listens to a radio
inside his pillowcase. One boy drinks coffee alone in the zookeeper’s shed. The last
boy casts a purple stone to the bottom of a pond & follows it down with his church
from Fiat Lux, by Lynda Hull
Static from the radio stippled grey as anesthesia dream,
band after band of voices,
the luminous bar of speedometer, column shift. Cruising,
the long battered car fogged in whiskey
breath, the sumptuous trash, canvas scraps, pasteled
bills of lading. Father and daughter—
from Honey, by Arielle Greenberg
. . . I dream I am guided
by an elderly couple in a dim farmhouse
to their morning radio and blackberry tea
and then given the combs which I snap
into my dry mouth where they fill and fill.
from A Fox’s Tail is Called a Brush, by Emily Pettit
. . . I hope your summer is being a good summer.
Grasses and radios. Get archaic. A hunter looking
for a streaming blue. You were in the weather.
You idea. A not new idea. A room. I got home
and my door was blue. It was a fox and a picture
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