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I didn’t expect an explosion,
but there was an explosion.
Somebody had left

a partially torn-down meth setup
in the kitchen of the house,
so that fucker went up

like we had dropped a bomb on it.
We couldn’t disappear after that.
We were on our asses after that.

Everybody with a camera phone
finished taking our pictures while
we waited for the police.

We stank from the effort.  I wanted
to smell like a fire, but I didn’t.
I smelled like a long, beautiful night

that ended with an ending
that could never wash off.  I fidgeted
a little in the first rising dust

of the day.  I watched the flames
& thought of the horses
from the creek.  They would have

been so proud of us right now.
I thought of my friend’s dead wife.
I fell asleep on that road

& I dreamed of no terror
& I dreamed up until they cuffed me
& reminded me of my many rights.

Darren C. Demaree: I am the author of six poetry collections, most recently Many Full Hands Applauding Inelegantly (2016, 8th House Publishing). My seventh collection Two Towns Over was selected as the winner of the Louise Bogan Award by Trio House Press, and is scheduled to be released in March of 2018. I am the Managing Editor of the Best of the Net Anthology and Ovenbird Poetry.

I am currently living and writing in Columbus, Ohio with my wife and children.

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submissions :: where is the river

Up to six poems in a single .doc file with author biography and photo to

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Klara du Plessis :: Three poems

Seeing is forgetting the name of the thing seen
The flower has been dying
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Softly unburdening itself.
If I were to touch it ever so lightly
all the petals would be upset
and topple like the last bit of drink
in my mug all over the papers
on my desk. This slightly generic
image happens to me
on a Sunday morning, gently,
a homage to days taken off
in the past, the cotton shirt stuck
over my head in the act of pealing
it from my skin. Fetching
is a synonym for beauty.
Driving over to the pick-up point
to fetch an instant of attraction.
Becoming is also a synonym
for beauty. To burgeon,
to longingly cling to the act
of a future self. As syntax erodes
around you

East Plateau, Montreal
December 31, 2016

When last was cornucopia
a sign of decadence?
Domesticated horny,
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reclining legumes
lisping along that rattan lip,
the most lethargic still
lifes in existence. I walk
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issue three :: January/February 2018