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It’s a dog’s life

in which many give blood, the odd pint, the occasional bag; the stranger few
drain gallons. Even fewer donate with such regularity that they have a central line

conveniently installed for extraction. Not that expedition and speed are what
is …

The Leftovers

The Leftovers

The Leftovers, by Shaelyn Smith. Cleveland State University Poetry Center, 2018. 232 pages, $16.

There are tons of reasons to read art criticism: you can learn about culture, formulate arguments, or anxiously over-prepare for a Tinder date with a Dada …

The Less Said


It was a simple pulley. Not weathered, maybe fixed-eye, with some plastic twine threaded through the sheave. It hung there from a bar, which had been bent in the middle by weight and poor planning. The bar was secured …

Hepatica, My Favorite Flower

Spellbound, stomach full of precious stones,
I watch you. Blurry satyr, fawn dozing,

prey on cottony greensward. Gotten goat
unwounded on the whorls of liverwort.

Man asleep on pale green cotton. Warm
man, glowing peacefully like dreaming prey.

Ticks like …

2020 Vision

I will be closer to Bingo age than hopscotch.
Parts will harden, parts will soften.
They will burn in outrage over the latest

unjust deaths, a fresh but familiar two weeks
of fuel for the twenty-four-hour news cycle.
Pundits will …

Ma’s Cactus

While I am tweezing the first of three cactus needles stung into my right shoulder, my teeth furiously biting into a small rolled-up towel I’ve put in my mouth, I feel more certain than ever that Ma’s expensively exotic plant …