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Where Love Becomes Our End Times and We Choose That Dance AnywayBy Sarah Frances Moran QuailBellMagazine.com for Pulse
We aren’t supposed to use love in a poem, piled in every corner. the pink sheep, in every corner The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Disjointed HalvesBy Tabbitha Gordon QuailBellMagazine.com I have his thoughts I have her words
I hear them all day long Speaking softly only to me Disgusting images mingle With graceful poetry In a vortex of lies Washing over me like rain The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Grand Old Spill-OBy Colin Dodds QuailBellMagazine.com With a solemn nod
for the galaxies painfully separating Spill-O straddles a widow’s peak of exquisitely wind-blown leaves and poses for a textbook The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Breaking the InternetBy Gretchen Gales @GGalesQuailBell QuailBellMagazine.com *Editor's Note: Quail Bell Magazine is not responsible for injuries caused by horsing around. #Unreal #Photography #HorsingAround #BreakingTheInternet #Equine #PaintedPonies #TooHotToTrot Visit our shop and subscribe. Sponsor us. Submit and become a contributor. Like us on Facebook and follow us on Twitter.
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frog songwormwood dropped to earth and cracked and bled.
like the sidewalk, and the suicidal head-- rolling limp from the river, basking on the banks, steaming bodies shook water from their ears-- The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Oxygen Mask“This is your captain speaking," I say to myself
in a voice, not a whisper. |