The Blog


Jesse Littlejohn

The vows went off.
They really burned it down—those old folks. They really
moved at the fan’s-edge shadow of their feet to god knows what
they felt that rhythm was. The girl herself was quiet, sweet. The bones
sagged like blown wheels in a broth of tripe
and bullion
and the foils round the almonds came undone. One by one

breast cancer, metaphorically

Betsy Johnson

repair the window prone to tipping some pieces ready to go like Mary
in a blue glass dress falling easily after old lead gets wound into a sleeping
coil while other panes need to be forced without breaking this is patience
that ends in mud pane garden crucifix crack & Q-tip what was broken back
up she goes to perch each day with the unholiest bursting bosom of light



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