"Barcelona Flea Market" by Alexandra Dosman
"Last Days" by Anna King We left the woods with moose in our pockets, slept on cedar tongues, dreamt of buildings molasses and pine needle statutes in the forest, licked our sticky lungs. Dreaming, we built Bambiâ€™s lost brother, held right when he melted down. We loved the road home, its straight sex line, our teeth cold, biting at the sun. We loved the fat puddles of gasoline lapping like mouths at restroom doors. We tossed in stones and pennies for wishes: I wish, I wish â€“ The night was still. No, just kiss me instead. Slim-boned we lay on the hood of the car, counting off the grandfathers weâ€™d known. At night we screamed like bears. The starts pricked our mouths. And still we drove, past apple-eyed deer, trembling skunks, the imprints of wood ducks.
In darkness I touched your knuckles, imagined myself Hovering mute behind the car, Just following, not seeing the moths in ecstasy Spread out like lace on the windshield.
"Rue Alymer" by Julia Cornett
"Cherry Picking" by Craig Bateman Kings v. Paupers and juries advising judiciaries, on customs and common practice. The natural state of things, being inferred, drawn, and quartered into a variety of torts. Great halls of justice ring with small words rippling into a ponderous chain of reference. The feeble precipice of knowledge and certainty, falling backwards and growing like some ethereal tree. Attempting equality, the mongoose of all concepts, and twisting the pernicular into trump cards. All this activity, mere chimera, Cherry picking.
"Gourmand" by Patrick Meagher