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Josh Kalscheur
Like AA meetings, I’ll begin each sentence God will show up like a parole officer, to check pockets, ask if I’ve tried to leave, if the wavering rain is His fault, if I’ve let my blood run lukewarm. After introductions, questions: Will I have my choice of beige houses? Can I salt my tofu, pepper my eggs? Can I find the one-way streets? Will it be London everyday? Is bisexuality the way forward? Will the gloriosas be dried out, but clinging to color? The shoulder shrugs, the pauses, the shifting of feet, the mumbling, they all just drone like crumpled phrases, Who knows? Maybe then, maybe now, Maybe? That’s where I’ll be then, almost tripping, taking the roundabouts, pacing myself, looking for someone who has a complete sentence for me… Josh Kalscheur's work is forthcoming at The New Delta Review and published at Words On Walls. In Fall, 2006, his poetry was nominated for an AWP award. Josh resides in Northfield, Minnesota where he studies and writes poetry. |
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