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New Poetry, by Mia Rozan




The Polar Express’ Desk Clerk


On the Polar Express,

‘cross walls of velvet,

draped in wood.

‘Cross porcelain dinners of

fat bellied men. ‘Cross painfully

happy dogs. In the back,

below piss colored lights,

is the clerk’s desk.

Armed deadly.

With his kippah.

He fends off

merry ghosts.


Brilliant Jelly


To be so brilliant,

as a jellyfish.

To float aimlessly,

gobble plankton.

To be more jelly in mind and soul.

Here’s to knowing nothing,

feeling nothing, thinking nothing.

I’m here to float.

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