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S.H. Woodgeard

A recent MFA graduate, S.H. Woodgeard lives and writes out of the American Southwest. He can be found on Twitter @shhhwoodgeard.


My ex needed a boyfriend

and any boy would do

so he found me


Relationship as point of pride

public display, advertisement 

the details—unimportant


Brings you low to know

you’re some mannequin

That it’s been all for show


Bright and staged

an image for the screen

Feeling empty and alone


You’re told, you have it all

followers, a viral stream

you have cachet


And so you learn to accept

a kind of love

that’s no finer than porn

Is It Safe?

Has anyone asked if it’s safe to have so many sculptures in a place so prone to tornadoes?

Where they could be ripped up, unearthed, and sent torpedoing into the air?

But they won’t be sent to OZ


They’ll come crashing back down, onto your friends, your family—your car

Bronze, stone, concrete missiles

Tumbling oblivion from the sky


With faces you’d recognize

Familiar from centuries past

The same old, white faces, smiling

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