Today I’m about as blue as a mixing bowl,
a denim skirt, a velvet sleeve, my own
personal blue beyond violets, sixties’ eyeshadow,
the sad-eyed sound of Elvis’s voice.

Things are not as they should be:
the grass gone coarse
and sharp as wire
the horizon a haze of smoke
threatening to choke
our lungs in past neglect.
by Ryan Keating A dance in medias res Our hands and feet together Cast identical shadows Of union and uniqueness In overlapping circles By common light refracted Onto the floor…
When the dream awakens & the sleeping coma
is no longer present, the self finds an awakening –
its love revelation
He’d played on your baseball team one year,
showed promise you never did.
You said you’d lost touch with him
until he turned up
in your English class that fall—
a different boy—withdrawn, thin,
and silent in a room where no one else was
quiet.
Maybe it happened like you thought
or maybe you just gathered memories
like a bouquet of shards: glass, plastic,
stone—strewn and demolition-dusted.
We entered Yellowstone, and you gaped
at charred tree trunks,
where acre after acre of still-scarred land
had burned six years before.
by Cortney Davis –December 21, 2020 Tonight the air had the scent of earth, of dust,like old books in a sunlit library rarely used. We drove out to an overlook…
by Jody Collins Dust echoes with his not-voice,the fingered sentence setting her free.Onlookers speechless, he bendsagain to slice truth in the dirt.His body unfolds, meets her gaze,crowd vainly listens behind…