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poet

Art Zilleruelo

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Art Zilleruelo received an MFA from Wichita State University and a PhD from Northeastern University. He is the author of The Last Map (Unsolicited Press, 2017), 

by this poet

poem
Ten planes exhaled contrails,
painting someone’s property lines
across a sky we thought was ours.

The sun surfaced,
and a checkerboard shadow
carved the city into hundredths
before the lattice loosened
and masked itself as clouds.

Now we walk divided, with memory
imposed upon the moment,
rays wandering a graph
poem

No family. Anything but that
distributed wave of same
blood, different bodies.

No friends. Let them find some other
pretext for hauling out the secret ledger,
for declaring one of their own
eliminated by the math.

Only our lawyer,
tramping through a field
with a napkin

poem

There is a hook that lives
in me, and any hand may tie
its line to the eye,
to reel me where it will,
to cast me out
in counterfeits of flight,
to tease a world of mouths
with intimations of a meal.

And I have learned through long repeat
the grammar of gravity,
the