By Steve Davenport

Night tongues

the low slur

like an oar

By Steve Davenport

At the end of the world,
a Tuesday, I crouched
with a blue notebook
in a concrete bunker
and drank schnapps
until my liver candied

By Peter Kline

Ich allein
lebe und leide und lärme.
I alone
live and suffer and howl.

By Peter Kline

There’s something not-quite-right about you, he said.
There’s something not-quite-right about the way
you stand beside me, close enough to touch me.