SOMETIMES A HORSE IS NOT A HORSE The Marais—where we are—but in another era, before chic. And in the weed-choked square, a crowd near a creature, legs loping in air while his grounded body writhes. Pressing forward, we hear the…
Category: New Work
Poetry: Sara Renee Marshall
from THE LANDSCAPES WERE IN MY ARMS Sometimes an avenue itself is the masterpiece. In France gold arrests the street like a sequin wheeling its shine around. Form and light translated by how heavily they close in on the eye.…
Poetry: pablo lopez
from NUMBERS: A Poem 420. Countless detail. 420. Some danger we’re in. 421. Days outside. And generic anvil. 422. If true. Days slitter the skin. 421. Scars splattered. The face. 421. Historic detail.
Poetry: Diana Khoi Nguyen
Souvenirs from a Future World Evening worked quickly as if sewing a ghost. The cry of a doorframe holding nothing, Light cut through. Two truant hands gripped stucco, Peppercorns dropped from trees, The dapple-gray rider smelled the whale washed up…
Poetry: Barbara Tomash
Of Nature
Poetry: Bruce Bagnell
Balanced I am not symmetrical my right arm reaches past the left – I think more than I take my left ball is heavier than my age scars are not balanced on skin or me.
Poetry: Rebecca Wolff
Romance Sometimes even now I get this feeling riding in the back of a small truck, covered wagon, ruched aperture to night sky, repurposed army truck, 2 am and I’m bouncing with a half dozen other hitchhikers, transient, youthful, with…
Poetry: Sueyeun Juliette Lee
The Quiet Sun Just as I was taught to kneel, the sun became foreign to me. How to speak after a different daylight emerges? Name that black chamber, its seamless, quiescent surface. Speak after an epoch, an apocalypse—find again that…
Poetry: Dan Beachy-Quick
You Must Speak if Echo is Who You Love I’m just one of many suitors, maybe the least, maybe the one who speaks the smallest words—“yes” and “no”— as if each were a knob in the air that turned returns…
Poetry: Andrew Zawacki
OTHEREARTHLY SONNET Sashes open, a blouse flutters white Diffraction artifacts Morning in the Place des Vosges—perlite Sunlight baccarats the garden’s 10-blade diaphragm—, you Tipple through the blanched arcades a Banshee beauty Parlor curler Left plugged in too long