Jenna CARDINALE
Columbia Poetry Review 16
The cocktail hour
finally—Practice
for the palace—
My billfold full—
Even her lips
supply enough shock—
Open like an exit—
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Diner 2, 2
Standing him up,
the passport with no
photo, the projector
broke.
Rejected, he indulged
an idle hope
of spirits, another
country now.
Horizon peeling back
as frantic as fire.
More than sweetness—
the delicate whole.
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Good Foot 1
The cock fights
the sun, red
dress on, used
to standing.
He's not paid
enough to reveal
the instrument's
allure. A constellation
falls. Never trust
anyone who calls you.
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Hanging Loose 81
Certain small lies
conceal the taste
of the drink, the suck
and settle. Excuses
still. Night fell
and I felt the man
felt like more.
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Pool 1
Cheerful to this—The accidental
face—I think to avoid—Another
hour and a candy—You wear
nothing—A perfect egg
replicating—Hallelujah
is wasted—My collection of
cut—Small flag waving—A brick
in a bag in a box—The zipper
that derails—Glass is
the absence—How easily one empties
of good things—The knot
that is the noose—The last
time I held my breath—