Author: limestone-admin
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Windmill
CAsey McConahay, short fiction windmills, windmill casey mcconahay, windmill Mcconahay, windmill short fiction, windmill short story, Windmills short storyBy Casey McConahay The blades of the windmill were tapered like spear-points. They turned in laggard revolutions. As they spun, they made shadows on the dry, level land. There were vultures to the east of the windmill.
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Two Poems by Caki Wilkinson
Caki Wilkinson is the author of the poetry collections Circles Where the Head Should Be (UNT Press, 2011), which won the 2010 Vassar Miller Prize, and The Wynona Stone Poems (Persea Books, 2014).
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An Interview with Carl Phillips
Carl Phillips, Carl Phillips Poet, Carl Phillips Poet INterview, Interview with Carl Phillips, phillips interview limestone, phillips interview new limestone review, Phillips interview NLRBy Sophie Weiner Carl Phillips is the author of fourteen books of poetry including Reconnaissance (Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 2015), Silverchest (Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 2013), Double Shadow (Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 2011), finalist for the National Book Award; and Speak Low (Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 2009), finalist for the National Book Award.
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An Interview with Marie-Helene Bertino
interview, interviews with marie helene bertino, interviews with marie-helene, Marie-Helene Bertino, marie-helene bertino story writer, Short Story Writer, story writer bertino, writer interviewBy Kate Tighe-Pigott I first encountered Marie-Helene Bertino at the Brooklyn Book Festival a number years ago, where she talked about finding the right kind of surrealism for her story collection SAFE AS HOUSES.
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Letters to Jim Harrison
fiction by Sean Lovelace Letter to Jim Harrison #13 Another winding down, December. Thus attempting to name more trees, a field guide and close study of bark and berry and leaf. But it isn’t snagging the brain, too much folly. Still too jumpy to stop and seriously consider the rain, only the sound—ticking and tapping—only…
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Here I Am
Excerpt from The Map of Enough by Molly Caro May Grass scratched up against my hips. Grass, it seemed, was the way here, even as dark rushed around me: miles of grass, tall and dense and stretching back to black clumps of trees, slumbering mountains, and who knows what else on this warm July night.
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The Baader-Meinhof Phenomenon
baader-meinhof phenomenon, brain remodeling, isel garcia, Marie Christelle Garcia, mentally fit, poem, poems, poetryTwo Poems by Marie Christelle Garcia There…
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The Hunter Isn’t Coming and Grandma Is Dead
grandma is dead, hunter did come, poems, poetry, red riding hood dreaming, red riding hood poems, sarah blake, the hunter did come, the hunter isn’t comingThree Poems by Sarah Blake Before I die I dream about turning into so many stones that the wolf has to stay in this bed forever