HAIKU IN ENGLISH: THE FIRST HUNDRED YEARS ant ant ant ant ant
January 30, 2014 § 1 Comment
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the cloud-edge on the horizon deer head in the freezer
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Jon Cone
Issue Six
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where the lines end and the absence begins an architecture or so
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Chris Gordon
Issue Five
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clear winter sky over the radio the first bombs
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Dorothy Howard
Issue Four
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whittling
till there’s nothing left
of the light
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Jim Kacian
Issue Five
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your hair drawn back
the sharp taste of radishes
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M. Kettner
Issue Five
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meadow speaking the language she dreams in
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Scott Metz
Issue Nine
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JON CONE ant ant ant ant ant seven
September 30, 2011 § Leave a comment
Yet She Tells You About Owls
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I look for my ax sounds of distant trains
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Horns swirling my ruined reeds
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Cup your hands hold the iron water briefly
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After the storm all morning gathering tree branches
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Wondering about the unreadable billboard I boil an egg
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Ropes and bags of sand even I remember the old garage
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Plums in a plastic bag on the picnic table the fountain lights
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On the path to the water pump sky filled with stars
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At a loss for words using bleach to clean your infected toe
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Laundry on the line grasses move in the ditch
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Stirring ashes with a stick crudely drawn phallus
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The pond is frozen hard nipples beneath your shirt
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Three pennies in a urinal full moon tonight
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Before the universe not even nothing to piss you off
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Toy truck rusts in the sandbox measureless grief
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You don’t even like her yet she tells you about owls
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The juniper is ill with mold I need new eyeglasses
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Sprouting through plastic grass seed left in the rain
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The hammer feels warm I wipe my face with a rag
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Paperbacks my glasses a change tin decorated with pin-ups
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Near the lonely summer telescope an outhouse steams
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Thunder approaches at my desk writing a letter
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Scanning the phone book you find your name
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In the barn straw dust climbs a column of light
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Summer already I catch flies with my bare hand
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By this time next year you won’t even remember why
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T-shirt wet with sweat working the lower register
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The wasp you don’t really like begins a new nest
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On the hill of flowers your ragged mouth gives me ideas
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Black angel in need of repair it’s just me lousy with tools
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JON CONE ant ant ant ant ant six
December 3, 2010 § 1 Comment
I OFFER YOU AN EYELASH
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building a stone fence a scattering of feathers
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smell of incense meat scraps in a plastic bin
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mouthful of willow rain on the shed roof rain wherever
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lifting up your dress from behind fire-scorched land
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basket filled with stones the graveyard we wandered in
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dreamed we lived in a corn maze what a curious word chthonic
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axle grease on a rag blunt ruined fingers and eucalyptus mist
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wasps by the pump only the four elements are real
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the cloud-edge on the horizon deer head in the freezer
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the shade of a hemlock I offer you an eyelash
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