Josh Dale

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Haiku

1
The flowers have bloomed
and the locusts devour
any sign of life.

2
Oily dressing with
the pit-marked spinach leaves on
my baby-blue plate.

3
A doe has died on
the searing blacktop. It still
continues to smile.

4
My gaze, downward, with
all the plastic faces here;
coffee stains shirt brown.

5
Break up in tiny
distinct pieces. Now, your heart
is not the same.

6
Please and thanks and a
firm handshake is how killers
pay the bills these days.

7
Cigarette smoke and guns
smell the same when under the
fires of starlight.

8
“Just after this drink,”
courtesy of bars who let
their lights fizzle out.

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Hailing from the Greater Philadelphia region, Josh Dale is a Temple University alum, bicyclist, and owner of the sweetest Bengal cat in the tri-state area. His work has appeared in or is forthcoming in 48th Street Press, vox poetica, former cactus, Huffington Post, Drunk Monkeys and others. He runs Thirty West Publishing House as founder and editor-in-chief and slings words on occasion at bookstores and dive bars.

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