Colorado State University Center for Literary Publishing

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Impossible Map out of the Basement

Nov, 17 2017 | no responses

What have I // transferred to you, dear listener? Is this / our odyssey together, or have I hitched you // to my now-naked side? I am sorry. Maybe.

Addendum

Nov, 17 2017 | no responses

How their faces were cut out / then cinched in the center with a drawstring // And how all my ideas, dilemmas, doubts / I held most dear would be erased in five days’ time

From Destruction of Man

Nov, 17 2017 | no responses

with the wainscoting of the field / peopled with crapped out rigs / just some boil wheel ass half implements improving / towards a satisfaction the bog bug bites on / one defamed mange face wanderer

Island Rule

Nov, 17 2017 | no responses

My mother’s house was built into the side of the volcano, where it was green and too thick to take anything but the machete-cut paths. We were field-workers. That is, until the men in uniform came.

The Grammar of Untold Stories

Nov, 17 2017 | no responses

We were going to visit Budapest for a vacation. “As long as we’re there, we could visit your grandmother’s village,” he said. “Maybe do a little research. You might find a family member who still lives there.”

What She Is

Jun, 23 2017 | no responses

Long white-blonde hair in front of the white clapboard chapel. Her body almost invisible in the afternoon sun except for tan  legs, bare feet, the straps of sandals held in one hand like an invitation. A small valise at her feet, weathered, blue, hardly big enough for a change of clothing. He noticed her before he saw her thumb, out of place the way she was in front of Phillips Chapel.

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