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	<title>The Blue Pencil Online &#187; Verse</title>
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	<link>http://www.thebluepencil.net</link>
	<description>Writing &#38; Publishing at Walnut Hill</description>
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		<title>Figure</title>
		<link>http://www.thebluepencil.net/archive/verse/figure/</link>
		<comments>http://www.thebluepencil.net/archive/verse/figure/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Fri, 30 Jul 2010 19:49:12 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>admin</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Elizabeth McClure]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Verse]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.thebluepencil.net/?p=6789</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[For Aupa
If only I could witness the way you packed your suitcase that night, pulling
Worn denim and flannel shirts from the chest of drawers, folded by your wife’s
Own hands. Walls would whisper of a man who drove to Florida for a lover
The day of his daughter’s birth. A single windowpane might reflect a portrait
Of Christmas [...]]]></description>
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		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>The Painter to Her Ex-lover</title>
		<link>http://www.thebluepencil.net/archive/verse/painter-to-her-ex-lover/</link>
		<comments>http://www.thebluepencil.net/archive/verse/painter-to-her-ex-lover/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Mon, 26 Jul 2010 01:09:55 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>admin</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Emma Stein]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Verse]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.thebluepencil.net/?p=6803</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[So you&#8217;re in love.
Most people wouldn&#8217;t be able to tell, you know.
But I&#8217;m not most people.
I can trace you like Degas
Traced ballerinas, in hazy recollections
Of peach pastel, so blended
You forget yourself.
But I am immutable. I don&#8217;t forget
What I had for breakfast
Or the state fish of Indiana.
Or that car&#8217;s carcass
I saw the other day,
Spread out on [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://www.thebluepencil.net/archive/verse/painter-to-her-ex-lover/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>Nursery Rhyme</title>
		<link>http://www.thebluepencil.net/archive/verse/nursery-rhyme/</link>
		<comments>http://www.thebluepencil.net/archive/verse/nursery-rhyme/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Sun, 18 Jul 2010 12:48:41 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>admin</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Marina Stevenson]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Verse]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.thebluepencil.net/?p=6772</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[I.
A sign that reads “FOR RENT” has just gone up
At the entrance of the home inside the house.
The cat drags each claw clean through her teeth.
She has just devoured the head of a brown dormouse.
II.
The child observes the body of the cat he has killed.
It lies as motionless, as wooden, as a 2&#215;4.
He took it [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://www.thebluepencil.net/archive/verse/nursery-rhyme/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>Backpackers, Beachshackers</title>
		<link>http://www.thebluepencil.net/archive/verse/backpackers/</link>
		<comments>http://www.thebluepencil.net/archive/verse/backpackers/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Thu, 08 Jul 2010 13:43:29 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>admin</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Erica Berry]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Verse]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.thebluepencil.net/?p=6606</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[Pits of our feet pockmark the beach.
We are music—metal cups
Clip-clop, toes pebble-trip,
Dip between fists of rock.
Can you hear our marching hearts?
Watch us water-walk from pregnant tides,
The sun our bride and we are almost virgin too,
Sand whoring at our ankles.
We two-step sea stars—starfish—
Crayfish, spread-eagled along the brim,
Their bodies snarled in hollow
Driftwood beads.
We fear salt-swollen waves: pickled, [...]]]></description>
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		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
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		<item>
		<title>The Citizenship Test</title>
		<link>http://www.thebluepencil.net/archive/verse/citizenship-test/</link>
		<comments>http://www.thebluepencil.net/archive/verse/citizenship-test/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Wed, 23 Jun 2010 13:24:31 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>admin</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Haeyeon Cho]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Verse]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.thebluepencil.net/?p=6498</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[Winner of the 2010 Bishop Prize in Verse
.
The Citizenship Test
He says he let go of the word.
It shook away from the coils
of his cuttlefish  tongue, left behind
a Greek prefix  and slithered
into the creaks  of textile foot pedals.
I tell him he might fail the test.
I passed mine because my mother taught me
how to [...]]]></description>
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		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>Play Girl Play Life</title>
		<link>http://www.thebluepencil.net/archive/verse/play-girl-play-life/</link>
		<comments>http://www.thebluepencil.net/archive/verse/play-girl-play-life/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Sat, 22 May 2010 00:47:29 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>admin</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Nicolette Gendron]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Verse]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.thebluepencil.net/?p=6357</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[Who am I? is a stupid question
for the girls who give favors
under the money veil,
evanescent in daylight. We are power.
I don’t associate myself with “we”—
the General’s broken broads.
I fucked Philip Markoff.
He didn’t kill me but
I burned his money,
Balconette ghosts, by the Eiffel Tower.
I read the newspaper. For once.
And after I dirty purity,
Sarah Palin ruining America
makes [...]]]></description>
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		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>woman&#8217;s mouth</title>
		<link>http://www.thebluepencil.net/archive/verse/womans-mouth/</link>
		<comments>http://www.thebluepencil.net/archive/verse/womans-mouth/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Fri, 30 Apr 2010 13:54:53 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>admin</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Gadi Cohen]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Verse]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.thebluepencil.net/?p=5977</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[Runner-Up for the 2010 Bishop Prize in Verse

.
woman&#8217;s mouth
she walks out on the high road,
the night furrowing its lips behind her.
low, black lines stitched and crusted
like stars in the sky, patterns so soft
that you’d never know a man so meticulously
carved them, day after day, his chisel tunneling
into the soft rumple-skin. jaws as black and sturdy
as [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://www.thebluepencil.net/archive/verse/womans-mouth/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>Undertow</title>
		<link>http://www.thebluepencil.net/archive/verse/undertow/</link>
		<comments>http://www.thebluepencil.net/archive/verse/undertow/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Tue, 06 Apr 2010 21:10:03 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>admin</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Phoebe Nir]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Verse]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.thebluepencil.net/?p=5540</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[The ocean has a tongue, and it can lick
A prehistoric boulder into sand.
How often must I ask if you are sick?
I wonder if an oyster knows the trick
Of how to coax a pearl out of its gland.
The ocean has a tongue, and it can lick.
My tongue is dry. It’s like a slab of brick.
I wish [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://www.thebluepencil.net/archive/verse/undertow/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>Orb Weaver</title>
		<link>http://www.thebluepencil.net/archive/verse/orb-weaver/</link>
		<comments>http://www.thebluepencil.net/archive/verse/orb-weaver/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Fri, 26 Mar 2010 18:54:09 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>admin</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Catherine Saterson]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Verse]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.thebluepencil.net/?p=5374</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[I luxate eight limbs
Strung from silk slivers, I weave
Scaffold, absorb orbs.
— Catherine Saterson
.

&#8230;&#8230;&#8230;&#8230;&#8230;&#8230;&#8230;&#8230;&#8230;&#8230;&#8230;&#8230;&#8230;&#8230;&#8230;&#8230;&#8230;&#8230;&#8230;&#8230;&#8230;&#8230;&#8230;&#8230;&#8230;&#8230;&#8230;&#8230;&#8230;&#8230;
Read about orb-weaver spiders on Wikipedia.

]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://www.thebluepencil.net/archive/verse/orb-weaver/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>Cairo Poems</title>
		<link>http://www.thebluepencil.net/archive/verse/cairo-poems/</link>
		<comments>http://www.thebluepencil.net/archive/verse/cairo-poems/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Thu, 04 Mar 2010 21:51:43 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>admin</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Josh Calvo]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Verse]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.thebluepencil.net/?p=4971</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[ 
1.
We passed a blank billboard
On the drive to Cairo. An hour
Later we reached the city, watched
Sprawling brown buildings unravel
Like riverflow.
Everything had been made modest
By soda cans and color-faded wrappers.
Honks blared forth in the natural flute
Of existence: the cries of beggars,
Sighs of workers. Everything
Had been made quiet and sand-like,
Blank as billboards.

2.
A boy with his belt [...]]]></description>
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