The Origins of Poetry by Kevin Honold Archaeologists claim that chance nicksaround the rim of a clay drinking bowlmay have suggested meter to a pair of postglacialdeadbeats squatting in one of the less respectable caves,eating burnt beans, damning the insufferable...
by Simon Perchik It’s not a map yet there’s hope–you unfold old timesas if one morning in February you’d spread your armsand land became land againstayed behind as the snow still tying down the Earth–a small envelope, kept emptythe way you’d reach for her hand and...
After The Fact by Heikki Huotari Our secrets are on sale but just won’t tip the scale however close we hold the cards, however, hearing bells, in post and rope and canvas corners into yellow plastic buckets we spit out however many perfect teeth. The self serve...
some mornings i don’t want to put on clothes because i know i’ll eventually have to take them off by Erica Brunner I’m in a bathrobeand combat boots Lines tunnelinto my skin There are traceable veinsbeneath my décolletage Dark dog hair onwhite wool Green...
Sugar Blizzard of the Wishful Thought by Alec Hirshman To shrink the yard to a kind of room,the town to a draft in a hall,there’s snow, lots of it. To figure myselfa shade, I flush behind a cigaretteand send my double-breath from the stoopto the smokestack....
Transient by Quenton Baker Some [stars] are there but some burned out ten thousand years ago…You see memories. -Anne Carson We built gods real slick-smooth big god-looks on that stage big god-breath big god-sweat the bass pumped like priest-shrieks like...
