Current Issue About Editorial Note Archives Submitting Links		Poems by Ian Finch   Divorce Two streetlights throw me two shadows, letting my head rest lightly on my chest.   Truckstop A black sausage broke the yolk: a rocket stuck in the moon's eye, passing over the star-flecked counter.   Settling In They're calling for rain again and since the basement stones look dark from flooding I've painted all my windows shut so we can finally see what floats and what sinks   5 a.m. in the corner of a corner of the city the unseen sweetness licked up by a fly's legs, eyelashes ten million times more sensitive than a tongue   Next Poem
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