Bonus Pick for June: from Pepper the Yard with Light by Matthew Porubsky


                                    Same body

Your                   curves              continue,
                                    at image of old,
                                    at new language.
There’s a          ghost for
                        each of us        looming
register nothing but    
                                    closed eyes.

                        Specters don’t hold hands,
they haunt
            like fumes,
                                    taunt our new selves

                                    not to touch.
Air is broken               tile.
We walk cautious,

                                    slippery feet.

Matthew Porubsky has four collections of poetry and works for Union Pacific Railroad as a freight conductor. Books, links and info at

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