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Michael Jay Mcclure



To get back to you is easy; I may be in a room full of   people swelled with wine. I could be spreading my hand on a   couchback to keep steady. And then rain will come or someone will   say rain and I'll imagine your crunched Impala you got fo [...]


He has been back in New York two hours. The cars bank and drift, sputtering like crabs. It has just stopped raining, he comes in, turns off the lights, opens the curtains and lets the sky's gray song begin. Everything has gone wet. The brown bag went [...]

The Poem Emerges

The poem emerges, head opened at the mouth, mouth   tilting toward the air. A new Venus with skin so tight it seems laminated. Water beads, etcetera. Etcetera; that's all I'm saying. I could draw a parallel, I suppose. When I was five I shook my ta [...]


Not dead, but in a cold room of hurt, the bird drinks in rapid drams of air: Throat blushed, wings limp. All day the robins injested the wrong pesticide and now the mistaken gardener wrings and wrings his hands, trying to recover some balm of the com [...]