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Emily Kendal Frey

The Vase

A man spent time at the bottom of a vase. "Arrange me, please," he heard the air around him say. The man knew he should have a plan but he had none. One day he noticed a fly outside. It bumped its big slimy eye on the glass.

Ten Birthdays

I drove my truck across groomed Texas to an enormous crucifix, the biggest one in the nation. I was alien, terrified. I'd gone there with a purpose but arrived to find the place barren. A cop drove by. I turned back on to the highway.

Lying on the floor of the place we'd just moved to in Portland—B. and I—listening to CDs, there was nothing there but the two of us, and the music.

It Gets in the Way

15 July 2008
Vol. 8, No. 2

Dear Outlet,

Dear Honored Guest,

Mounded inside

in fits and starts.

Dear Plaque,

Dear Meatball,

Dear Attack—

Imaginary Distance

12 July 2008
Vol. 8, No. 2

Dear Jalapeno,

Dear Skeleton,

Dear Delight,

Dear Landslide—

This is the price

of a punch card

culture. Rip a few

mascots for the

bus ride over.

Imaginary Greenhouse

9 July 2008
Vol. 8, No. 2

Dear Jalapeno,

Dear Vagrant,

The trees are making

fools of themselves.

I'm making faces

at the greedy river.

The sky spits

at us in our tiny

white hats.

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