chris ransick poem for your shoes a poor attempt to find fear’s edge and/tear it away, to name it so I can know it. the angry man eats lunch alone I know someone is dying somewhere/this morning, struggling to breathe/in a sunny room, 3 QUESTIONS WITH CHRIS RANSICK poetry and mass media luc simonic the widow's boudoir rain or shine/my god,/she sallied forth alone holly in her imagination soft colors thin hips flax hair she/pounded holly's head into the wall on/and on it took three hours to finish. eating cake with my muse i set my sights/Out to do things to you judy wolf things i miss All we did is make out and kiss in his truck at the park and fuck in the backseat delia tratorria pure in winter hips I am cradled in the hammock of her pelvis./She curls, like the cup of my ear. revenue These are the lies you told yourself instead of dreaming./Leisure suits manufacture and yield less restraint than all/the fires shrinking for lack of proper nutrition. jane chuvala we could be sisters i see me and know you,/and know that we are the same.