Sitting next to me on the airplane is a man with a tattoo of a swastika.He is digging his thumbnail into an orange, dropping bits of skin ontothe carpet between our legs. Below the tattoo of the swastika is a tattooof a window with a view looking out onto a field with . . .
Read More
Tell me, what does dusk doto Sydney Street, spent of allour afternoons, and I’ll teach youhow to say Novemberuntil it’s rent of moth and flame,its every last leaf a rhetorician,asking what is tether without float?—from “Leaving Chelsea”, Volume 62, Issue 2 (Summer 2021) Tell us about one of the first pieces you . . .
Read More
. . .She was upright, lodged at one of the bigger brighter spas in the country,under her husband’s lover’s name. She was not in the pit, not in the silent, bottomless pool.And yet she was. Of course that was where she was.—from “Of the Mind,” Volume 62, Issue 2 (Summer 2021) Tell . . .
Read More
for Judy Garland’s nameand your son’s birthdaysto hourglass out—from “Ever since Alzheimer’s cut a hole in your pocket”, Vol. 62, Issue 2 (Summer 2021) Tell us about one of the first pieces you wrote.I wrote a poem in middle school I called “My Dearest Dear,” until recently still featured on what looked . . .
Read More
I should write more about America and us naked in a river. You called me a coward as you pulled off your clothes.Not wanting to be a coward, I pulled off my clothers The midnight of a night slipping —from “Love Poem without Light,” Volume 62, Issue 2 (Summer 2021) Tell . . .
Read More
I hide from people. I have a big nose & don’t brushmy teeth. My silhouette is long, splatteredwith lumps, bulging. This is to say: I’m ugly,I want to be unique. Since I was little,I’ve loved goblin sharks, their trapdoor jaws—from “Self-Portrait as Goblin Shark,” Volume 62, Issue 2 (Summer 2021) Tell us . . .
Read More
I don’t want to pluck my burr from your fleshnor do I want to be kind Or if I am to be kind, I want to be a kind of chameleon, night-blue flourescent.—from “When Nothing Else Will Do,” Volume 62, Issue 2 (Summer 2022) Tell us about one of the first pieces . . .
Read More
When Jesus casts demons into pigs,they leap from steep banks to sea. Some translations suggestlake. The water, salt or fresh, muffles a mania of snouts.—from “Pigs that Ran Straightaway into the Water, Triumph Of,” Volume 62, Issue 2 (Summer 2021) Tell us about one of the first pieces you wrote.When I started . . .
Read More
while I’m outside at the dull resort, near two women trying to readand claim to have managed so far ten pageswhich is nine more than meas I google the etymology of pugilistwhich one philosopher accused another being.—from “near the new year, the philosophers fight on a FB page,” Volume 62, Issue 2 . . .
Read More
the pair of gold teeth you found as a child, hiddenat the bottom of your mother’s jewelry box,were not from your father’s dental school failure,artificials he filed from ferric molds.—from “an open letter to the woman sharing her funny story in this writing workshop”, Volume 62, Issue 2 (Spring 2021) Tell us . . .
Read More