It had been forty years since
I’d seen her face to face. No
surprise, I couldn’t remember
how Julie made that planchette spider
from forks and a glass.
Khashayar “Kess” Mohammadi | A SERIES OF EXORCISMS
I pull aside a dreamer
who doesn’t believe
in the dream
Its not the duration I say
But the rhythm of hell
and my thoughts
are kick drums
syncopated
Darian Razdar | NEST
Listen,
there are five things here:
The Sky
This Home
Birdsongs
Us
and Patience
Erin Wilson | INVENTION
I dreamt
my lover gave to me a wolf’s pelt.
My first response was contentment.
Sleep-buoyed, I knew this as important.
Angeline Schellenberg | CAUGHT
What if you had been born? And with you, the sky—
in the night-ness of all things between
my dormant grief and his. And with you,
Shane Molyneaux | COMA
I was seven levels deep inside myself
on
floating a
lake
of ganglia
each level had a door that led to another door opened
with a sound I translated as
Alden Wallace | COUSIN MAC
Winter pushes unto the land & a cold flame rises. A palmprint fades from the glass & the child wonders where it leaves to. A letter has just come in from the old country & everyone gathers around. Cousin Mac tells of a dream he’s been having lately in which he finds himself in a cave running
Samantha Martin-Bird | MISHIPESHU
the summer I spent on the lake
I dropped some semaa as we jumped in the canoe
kwe told me stories of mishipeshu
of violence and death and vengeance
the wind picked up and blew against us
the entire way back
Kevin Irie | PERCHANCE TO DREAM
I do not think one should read poetry at night
just before sleeping,
for how can someone lay down to rest
when poems lift up your mind
as in “Bullet Points,” or Love is the love of
who we are, it is a form of knowing…