Poetry
Flowers for Plath
What’s this book about? she always asks, and I read her my favorite part with the fig tree, the fruit

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Poetry
What’s this book about? she always asks, and I read her my favorite part with the fig tree, the fruit
Poetry
I finally relented and placed one on a tea towel next to my pillow. It made a startled little snore.
Poetry
Scry-skapers horporate saidquarters mirrored mansions grancy feed-towers daring town the latural nandscape
Poetry
I slipped a dream or two between pages 102 and 103 of the handsome volume of poems on my bedside table. Like you would a leaf. The one collected from the pile under the Oak’s shadow.
Poetry
I’m on the sidewalk opposite Verdi Square kissing a married woman passionately and thinking oh my god you fool what are you doing because
Poetry
Everything here is the same—the same faded streetlights and the same fast food and the same homeless people lining the space between buildings.
Poetry
The cold rain at 2 a.m. beats against America, and by then you had already left. A ghost, two clowns will dance on the ceiling until the sky turns grey-white.
Poetry
A wizard, on the other hand, could cast spells with their wands. Radu had two Magic Wands instead of one. To double the power. Radu and the wands were inseparable.
Poetry
The body itself is the wound, deep and deserving, skin/hair/breath all edges of the scab. Muscle tension/eye strain, pain beneath the teeth, gentle reminders of the harbor itself.
Poetry
Fade Into You melts down lumbar curvature. Gish, she sings her lullaby. No fissures form in the foundation, no 737 jet stream goodnight.
Poetry
the way you stood at a stove stirring tall pots of beans in a dank soup kitchen where tracked snow melted in pools
Poetry
the height where space travel becomes animal instinct. The theory of constellations: take a cosmic razor to the horizon, where the spoils of day,
Poetry
One. On the eve of your citizenship’s trash day, and especially if you’re an eager beaver, wait until at least 7:30p to take your trash out to the curb. (9 or 10p is kinder, and 11p is kinder yet,
Poetry
Today I turned. Today I turned and saw beyond the tapestry, beyond the glass, beyond the lattice, the bee, the bright leaves. I saw the rising smokes of Baghdad, New York, Dresden, Portland, Jericho, and Thebes.
Poetry
The following Poems have been selected by the Editorial Team for the 10-year Anniversary Issue.
Poetry
“Please do not touch”, Or on labels where a child’s game lie paralysed in description, Where people come and gawk and say, this is spectacular!
Poetry
I hear a frog croak in the dishwasher I wash a single memory down the sink look up above the toilet bowl a painting of a housefly eating the head of another housefly
Poetry
Call me Śiva, Call me Hijra, Call me Lucifer, Circe, Crow, Call me Ishmael, Hecate, Kālī, Call me Coyote, Loki, Toad.
Poetry
Winter sound is blue and bell sudden. Shadows are knife blades. I was her nurse, butt wiper and cook. Still strong enough to hurl a bowl
Poetry
it slipped then through the cracks lost on the highway of a life lived in layers of wanderings.
Poetry
Yes, let justice be for twig and flea, ankle and feather in deep heather. A thousand tongues will praise me and none will beg my pardon, my inmates there all to declare I am a caring warden.
Poetry
The nawab clings to cinders, yearning for yesterday His paan performs a final somersault on the tongue.
Poetry
There lies the great poet In the hamlet of Haiku Influenced by seeds My fellow wandering soul Content with the heart
Poetry
i think i am owed secrets as though i’m one of a few earned caretakers or a suzerain fate has granted all sorts of trespasses but maybe it’s just like what my ex wife said before i packed the boxes i am only fascinated by what won’t let me in