Conference Apocalypse

poetry
  I'd like to welcome everyone to the last session of the last day. Thanks for being here. Thanks for sticking around until the end. We're probably all going to…

Fresh Flowers

poetry
  I was walking in a forest when I found a book of prose poems by Charles Baudelaire floating in a calm creek. I knelt into the shallow water and…

In Maine

poetry
  The earth might be uninhabited except for +++++++++++++++The easy ascent of the sun Orange like a relic or bullion from the shipwreck Breaking through, divine–– Ultra-blue light which +++++++++++++++Can…

Spring

poetry
  Yards of clover surrender rabbits with faces of Byzantine saints. Darting around as if tripping on acid.  Sunlight, a shiny lure Winking out of sight.  The ground is embarrassed…

Flamingo heights

poetry
  these tiny moments often get away from me, flapping their wings, somehow related to dad driving over the mail box, yelling about killing himself, or neatly arranging his paints…

My Idle Body

poetry
  it might be possible to take up a pencil —Donald Hall, “Without” It might be possible to take up a pencil without waiting for a good Muse-wrassle. To grab…

To my mother, as she ages,

poetry
  Give me the finger you burnt while making us toast. Give me your sunken eyes in the morning, and the worn soles of your feet at night. Give me…

The Architecture We Were Born Into

poetry
   —in “Latino,” by Leticia Hernández-Linares Portuguese was one of the seven deadly jubilations, kept close at hand, away from, the morcela made in hiding as meu pai loaded the…

Red Sky

poetry
  on her fifty-second birthday, my dad asks my mom if she’d like to have sex. No, and by the way, I’ve never liked sex anyway. they whisper but they…

Story of My Sky

poetry
  To the people, food is the sky — Ban Gu, Eastern Han Dynasty, The Book of Han   Our sky was limited when I was young, quota stamps for…