Pictures come to my mind; I think my pictures out with
my brain and then I tell my heart to go ahead.
—Horace H. Pippin
His reds always clamored—mortars bursting, a plane afire,
a gunner’s barrage, gladioli, gunshots, or Golgotha’s
blood rain. He made no distinctions. His roses were fists.
Plantation – Charif Shanahan
They no longer sleep quite as well as they did
when they were younger. He lies awake thinking
Abandoned Places – Lindsay Tigue
I move to Georgia
and a new friend can’t find
a place to get married, to celebrate.