Owl’s Head, 1980s, by M. Regan

i.      The Ocean        Gilded crests and metallic prisms        are shattered now, transmuted now:        emerald to tanzanite to sapphire to silver        in accordance with nor’eastern alchemy.        Like birth, the horizon becomes distinct bodies;        you watch as sea splits free from sky.         And there, between—a line across deep water:        an ouroboros loop betwixt past, present, shore.        Serpentine, it ribbons on the backs of swells,        incorporeal and hazed. …

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This is I, by KT Bryski

Light and night are falling from me,Death and day are opening on me… Who do you think you are, an artist? Here’s a story. When you were nothing more than an underfed slip of a girl, you carried home butter wrapped in newspaper. Unfolding it, you discovered—O serendipity!—reprinted poems of Tennyson. And thus, romantic appetite …

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