Stories

N30B Winners

Elsewhere, perhaps here too, regimes stagger, a congress ends.

Poetry

There was only the gulf of our steps, our breathing brittle as string.

Poetry

Imagine the world you want to live in; make the world in this image.

Poetry

Time is a hearse and horse, a carrot and stick, a window and widow.

Poetry

If every present is possible, how can we have eyes to see?

Poetry

I lie down and see you one bed over; therefore God exists.

Poetry

The stars begin to turn clockwise, freeing us of all consequences.

Poetry

I’ve taken the pledge and made donations of blood to the world.

Poetry

The pupils are toothpicks. The lake is a sky with a circle beneath.

Poem of the Week

If I bring the wrong pen the words look like snow piles on an empty page.

Poetry

I let you pull my hair, throw me to the rocks, disarrange me.

Poem of the Week

Absence rarely makes the heart grow fonder, or so my mother said.

Poem of the Week

Lunatics call it annihilation . . . Think of it as not doing a thing

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Poem of the Week

Suddenly two would dart and clasp one another belly to belly.

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Poetry

How large our muscles have to be to lift our wings even a single time.

Poetry

What excuse did I use to pick a fight with that arrogant poet?

Poetry

I am veins and breath, the entrance the world passes through.

Poetry

You know what you’ve come looking for you probably won’t find.

Poetry

I want you enough to gnash you into a silence made from pieces of silver.

Poetry

There’s nowhere he can kiss where she hasn’t been kissed by the sun.

Poetry

My brush an M-16, thirty-round clips for tubes of paint, all of them red.

Poetry

Even the busiest of businessmen are out for the count, paying the price.

Poetry

This is the stupid math of loving another human being.

Poetry

Regarding the affairs of our Father, your demon is Ennui.

Poetry

They plant whispers where shouts incinerate into hisses.

Poetry

Let’s rummage through each other’s bodies like a blowout sale.

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Poetry

Robert Hedin

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Poetry

A child no bigger than small change calls from her window j’ai faim.

Poetry

Two bikers, the bartender, me, and a skinny girl in skintight blue jeans.

Poetry

Through the dark, we say, through the dark: but do we ever really know?