Pleiades, by Wesley Woolf

and they said “I nor we, us, I mean the fifth one.”                                                                                    .                                                                                    .                                                                                    .                           …

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WE, by Phoenix Alexander

WE, with base of Ornithischia, machine-molded and encasing intelligence, run to keep the beloved ones alive WE: bird-hipped, yes, bird-fierce, mottle-fleshed, streaks on strips of whirling rubber that are the million treadmills that power this place, a place they thread the words “end-of-life care” through WE, who run for those above, with the hope that …

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