Arsenic Lobster poetry journal |
Issue Thirty Winter 2012 |
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Thirty Miles North of Forks Joshua Rice Humid pines prickle and fidget against the breeze sweeping crows’ black husks to the power lines’ edge. Crickets shuck themselves in the second- growth logging swath wildflowers, invisible as heat around stumps old and naked and white-hot as driftwood. A rabbit the color of dust tosses itself away from the road’s white- stitched seam, under a sky sky-blue above the itchy pines. |
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