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Daily Archives: January 15, 2017

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Why Male Birds Have Such Bright Feathers

                      Katie Darby Mullins teaches creative writing at the University of Evansville. In addition to being nominated for the Pushcart Prize twice and being the associate editor of metrical poetry journal Measure, she’s been published

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Erosion

                      Anna Sandy received her BA in English from the University of Memphis. She then relocated to Atlanta, GA, where she is now a third-year MFA candidate at Georgia State University. She currently teaches English

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Maneuvers, 1989

                    Richard Robbins was raised in California and Montana but has lived continuously in Minnesota since 1984. His Body Turn to Rain: New and Selected Poems is due in 2017. He currently directs the creative writing

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UnTwin

                          Laurie Posner recently returned to the San Francisco Bay Area from San Antonio, Texas. She works in the field of educational and environmental equity and inclusion. Posner holds a MPA from the

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The Character of Carbon

Six-C motherfucker—you have a way of sucking all the oxygen out of a room. Egyptians and Sumerians recognized you first, Lavoisier gave you a place at the Table. We frantically measure your parts per million, but you don’t care either way. Hot button hustler, poised

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ANNA POEM #4

                Thomas Martin teaches First Year Composition at West Virginia University where he is also an MFA candidate in fiction. His stories and poems have appeared in Kyler Martz’s Niteswimmer, a few issues of The Radvocate, the horror

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Holy Water

                                            Daniel Jackson, a poet from New York, has received his bachelor’s degree from Hunter College, New York and is currently an MFA candidate

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Oh, Man, Even the Birds in This City

                    Lee Chilcote lives in a 1900 Victorian in Cleveland, Ohio with his wife, Katherine, and their three children. He has worked as a community organizer, real estate developer, writer and teacher. He once read his

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Fall ride on the chestnut

A river runs beneath his copper hide, shoulders of tight-bounded fibers bearing us forward, his chest reddening with eagerness under my own aching thighs, as the sun hangs still in a September-blue sky, browned grass crunching under us. This was his one prayer for his