It's possible I'm getting lax, but [No it's not]

More than half the magazines I've seen this year have put a third or more of the poems they published in my strike zone. (OK, I've been using that pitching metaphor to describe the journal's role, and I've been using a batting metaphor for individual poets whose work gets to me in journal after journal -- brace yourself, because I'ma mix those metaphors:) Most recent to come in at .333 is Steve Schroeder's The Eleventh Muse, which among the ace work by fellow bloggers Clay Matthews, Jeffery Bahr, and Steve Mueske, has a piece by Mary Biddinger [UPDATE: turns out she has a blog too] I expect to be rereading every few weeks on through December:

Let's split. Outside a gray
dog like a mailbox in snow.

Either way I move it's sharp.
Clay, chokecherries, the stoop
at dusk in half shadow.

Your skin is like linoleum
or rolling papers.

(from "Snakeskin")

Love that dual unlike comparison -- but I am a Gemini.

Look, do you like poetry? I don't mean your poetry, I mean poetry. So you don't like every poem you see, who could. Wanting to keep a third of what you see, you don't have to be at all aware of baseball to know that's a pretty good yield. Eight dollars.