Anton Yakovlev
All night the phone rang.
Bread loaves aped gravestones.

When he found poems written in blood, he could only scream them.
No musician knew how to carry weight.

But always, always the memory of that sweater
falling off her shoulder. Like it or not,

she was an icon, a postage stamp. The sweat
on her chest, the friendliness of her hands

patting an usher's back in a bombed theater… Valentines
hung on every tree, replacing the decomposed executed.

It was hard not to think of yourself as a ghost—
still, somehow love continued to tighten its biceps.

He drank a milkshake made of ground-up doors.
How quickly the fog moved in.
from the journal UPSTREET
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"Edward Hirsch on Locating the Roots of the American Poetry Tradition"

"American poetry is both very old and very new. It stretches back tens of thousands of years to the oral songs and stories of Native nations, Indigenous peoples, aboriginal tribal cultures. And it is as up-to-date as protest poems posted on social media one hasty character at a time. There is no doubt that a central strand of our poetry traces to Puritanism and the Puritan code, the import of classical and English metaphysical forms applied to the New World." 

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Adam Dickinson (St. Catharines, Ontario) on Ecopoetry Now

"My poem responds to dioxin in part by reflecting on the complex history of the chemical as well as my own potential exposure history. I spent a significant portion of my life living and traveling in central and northern Ontario, Canada, never far from pulp and paper mills and their distinctive sulfurous smell and insidious environmental footprint."
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