Winter 2013 • Vol. XXXV No. 1 PoetryJanuary 1, 2013 |

“Canis lupus” Familiar Song of Songs

Feed this to the neighborhood. To the neighborhood dogs in heat, I say, the smallish stars hunting what the slow stars unscrewed. They streak. They eat all the gravity on the block and I bring it back. When I'm got, when she's good, the omega bitch rises up like a gorgeous violet weed. She runs high like an arrow unleashed. She takes her tail in her mouth. Accomplice stars gnaw on the dark. This is how we want to make love out at the fence—in fat grass, a hound at our backs, knees rocked and boxing a dent under a belled red alarm of alien honeysuckle, bodies folding out until huge fogs and landscapes that spell I, I, I was prepared to die. So feed this to something fast. Pick me. Down in the wings a hunting body paces like black honey and I go down. This is how we want to feel against the cellar wall. Once I died, in morning. But one thing composted. It was this. So female weeds upset the asphalt like a broken wine, and wild dogs butchered my heart and fled before it blew. They fe

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Presence

By Rebecca Givens Rolland

Feed this to the neighborhood. To the neighborhood dogs in heat, I say, the smallish stars hunting what the slow stars unscrewed. They streak. They eat all the gravity on […]

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