Two Poems
EMILY AS WE DISCUSS THE BULLET WE FOUND IN THE BACKYARD Gasped like lungs trying to exist outside of a body, Emily & I took turns holding the unfired bullet, saying nothing at all, we passed it back & forth… Continue Reading
Poetry
The Insect Wife
01. One morning we wake up to termite wings. It is our honeymoon. Odd and fumbling, we laugh in disbelief; we drink more rum than water, calculating gallons as a way to pass the days. From styrofoam containers: greasy donuts,… Continue Reading
Poetry
Two Poems
Prayer And what from the roadside rabbit, shiver-breathed, waning, the coiled perfection of its innards unfurled, can be gathered? I was once shown a horn that had grown from the back of a woman’s head. Erect on a pedestal like… Continue Reading
Poetry
For Mother’s Day
1 /// Mom’s rock collection My mother used to spark out back, cancer patient headscarf round her brow and little black John Lennon glasses so people don’t ask a lot of questions. Come the ritual of the rocks, she’d dig… Continue Reading
Issue 3 Poetry
With Your Shield Or On It
Queasy with the day’s weight, I walk in Chinatown Summer heat shames the old poets in Hell Melted tar, rotting fish, a bum crawls Seeking shade, wearing two coats While my neighbor Mr. Xan, three B,awake at four Tossing bales… Continue Reading
Issue 3 Poetry
Dissertation: Aphasia
The barista you used to know when you were younger says Come, sit with me, and he tells you how he doesn’t believe in reality anymore. This chair, these teeth could be anything that isn’t a chair, or teeth. Like… Continue Reading
Issue 2 Poetry
Small Complications
When he suggested a blow job under that old tree by the water in the public park, she laughed. She knows almost nothing about poetry, or death. She works at the grocery store. She is, generally, apathetic.She does not expect… Continue Reading
Issue 1 Poetry
Well-Wrought
I think we ate when we talked. We filled our throats with vowels. We ate from bowls: mouthfuls of sound in wooden spoons. They are well-wrought and intentional, or more than that, imperative. Eat,speak,tear with teeth. I could stack sounds… Continue Reading
Issue 1 Poetry
The Knot
for Francois Mauriac these are coils, not minds, but you’ll keep them quiet and lifelike in a pinewood country cupboard— the Sarlat quarry, the Garonne’s curvature—these supply your territory,argument, indelicate prose eye pinions bandaged like clasped hands over a shuddering… Continue Reading