this is a weekly feature in which i select ten phenomenal literature deviations that have recently caught my eye. if you have been featured, please
this journal and read the other works. now, onto the main eventó
"You are the crack of ice and hoarfrost.
The release of icicles and sheaves.
Small birds. Green birch leaves.
The bush of red foxtail in the brush."
"With ashen fingertips, and
fingers like twigs snapping
underfoot, I will carve out
my trunk and count my rings -"
"i count restaurants on my fingers.
the chains unroll themselves
in concrete evidence to deja vu
and the unoriginality of the american gods."
it's all there and just look at us:
a spectrum of delicacies and intentions
resting on at our fingertips
handwriting's a dialect"
"I have been the victim
of an unlikely affair
like theirs; where power
rocked decency to a shamed sleep