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  • Valarie

    I had this dream that a river Ran beneath my bedroom window And a pretty woman With dark hair and dark skin Was swimming in the dark water below. But somehow, strangely, I wasn't In the river myself. I couldn't enter my own dream. I can't think of a damn thing to do. Paranoia really…

  • ‘Ama’u

    These thorny ferns are what Kama-pua‘a, the Pig God, looked like when he wished to disguise himself. When he took this form, he had no visible eyes but he could see, no nostrils but he could smell, no bristles but he could feel every sulfur wind that touched his reddish fronds. He looked exactly like…

  • Snowing Desert

    Six months            later Sandra was found Murdered in a                  ditch. Lying With the blood Leaves. Scattered                        dirt Of Oregon. Four of us            fucking A cheap motel on The limes            of Van Buren.            Then we Switched. Sandra slips On the wet            tile Floor. These flakes Melt…

  • Incomplete Combustion

    Dear Larry: Looks like I won't need to borrow the car after all: the trip to L.A. is out of the question. I didn't know a life could break down like a chemical. Salt. Plutonium. The odorless noose of carbon monoxide. Up north a few years back, a group of kids committed mass suicide in…

  • Kamuela

    That great acacia's not growing anymore, the rats are on the limbs, the heartwood diseased, the fallen leaves show rot has replaced the long-lived green, like an emotion that cannot be recalled sufficiently. Yet it stands where it's always been, where the incredible horses graze. They seem never ridden, serene there, only combed and released…

  • Avalanche

    for K. Curtis Lyle within an avalanche of glory hallelujah skybreaks spraying syllables on the run, spreading sheets, waving holy sounds, solos sluicing african bound transformed in america into hoodoo, inside tonguing blues snaking horns, where juju grounds down sacred chords up in the gritty foofoo where fleet rounds of cadences whirlpool as in rivers,…

  • Rolling Into Atlanta

    Each night when Sandra got in from work, she watched the late movie on TV and ate a cold boiled egg with a Coca-Cola, sometimes with sesame crackers if she remembered to bring a few packets from the restaurant where she had been a hostess for the past two weeks. She had been drifting off…