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 Jan 2021 ju
Evan Stephens
The left-hand
shadow of
the ocean
curdles in
the small of
the back,
& legs ache
down dune
lanes, dawn-
marbled
sand squares,
pine-pitted,
while lungs rub
the court of ribs.

I'm looking
for anything
that resembles
a memory
of my father.

Salting sun,
mezcal splash,
spiced crab -
hints of him
here and there.

I carry him
in a cradle
of tattoos
across my
arms but
it's not
the same.

So I run
the beaches,
recalling
the time we
stopped at
a flooded
road on the
way into
the city and
Dad thought
for five solid
minutes about
whether we might
make it across
the dark water.
 Jan 2021 ju
Evan Stephens
Lay a shadow on me -
we sleep overlapped
with the night-bells,
the thieves in the pines,
the crescent wine,
mothers-of-pearl.

Lay a shadow on me -
your sun's waist
rises while my dreams
are still marching
across my forehead.
 Jan 2021 ju
Evan Stephens
Your halo combs
through the steam
trellis.  Old sprays
of Baltimore sugar
fan across the table
by a salt whisper.
The white steeple
of creamer with red
lamassu prowling
anchors the coffee
shop's Tuesday
crucible. I drink
mine cold as you
sketch the bustle.
When I leave for
the office, your art
eye is still tight
as a lens, amid
the brunette shots
of night-hearted
espresso, the cluck
of the businessmen,
and the steam tree
that wakes you away.
 Jan 2021 ju
Evan Stephens
Today I walked wet streets
strangely sheeted with pennies,

as slant light burnished coil after coil
of hair outside red-***** Macy's,

& the wind pulled open the liquor
doors in the middle of the block.

I missed her as I crossed the blank
green language of grass,

I missed her as I slipped through iron
railings into rain's only face,

I missed her as I hailed the bus on E st
& drifted into a shining glitch.

I lipped a Gauloises and observed
the body of smoke being born.

Then, just before this poem ended,
night appeared in my pocket,

next to the leather and the money,
& it was so hungry, so lonely.

I sheathed the sharpness of my eyes
in pity, and missed her all the more.
 Jan 2021 ju
Evan Stephens
Magpie
 Jan 2021 ju
Evan Stephens
Little magpie,
don't leave bed -
stay the day instead.
I have coffee, bread -
we'll be fed -
but that thigh
must elude this eye
or I lose the thread.
Did I hear you sigh?
Little magpie,
don't leave bed.
Rhyme scheme
A B B B B A A B A A B
 Jan 2021 ju
Prevost
Echoes
 Jan 2021 ju
Prevost
Listening for the echoes
Of distant songs
That erode the canyon walls
Wandered in search of self

Rhythms and dances
To the rising
Held high in light
To celebrate one’s self

Words and chants
Drumming up the call
An ancient summons
Bringing back.... self
 Jan 2021 ju
Kit Scott
you are an unholy sort of beautiful
a rejection of divinity in every freckle and curve
in the dirt under your nails and the blood in your smile
your crooked nose and clever fingers screaming that you are godless

you dress yourself in an artless kind of humanity and revel in the shock it brings
hair and skin and dirt and all the warmth you can gather between two hands
you cup your heart in scarred palms like the very opposite of a benediction

you wear debauchery like a second skin
darling, you could **** god with a grin
this doesnt flow very well but i like it
 Jan 2021 ju
Mike Adam
Quantum love
 Jan 2021 ju
Mike Adam
2 particles

Galxies
Apart

Mirror
Exact

Space time
Cannot

Restrain
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