By Julianne Neely
of none shall The Ghost of Iambic Pentameter (Chaucer?) be abridged on fetish hyperbole language was…
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- By Shara McCallumAt this point, I don’t know what in me is Jamaican
versus American. Or, reaching further back,
Trinidadian… - By Chris Hoshnicxxx
In the truck at his funeral time catches up to me / beaks me into
opaque-ness / a cog in the… - By Zoey YazzieDoor :[frames]: bolted by seams of
desert fleece and beaming blindfolds
dry-steamed by the musk … - By avery r. young
- By Margarita EngleTaíno in our blood
and on our tongues
stirs, yawns, rises,
no longer lost.
We ignore old historians
who tell… - By avery r. younga•ver•y (ā ver'ē), n. dark(iss) ¹blk-male chile foundate(id) in luv unlimit(id) fuc(k) anthem(s). ²jee…
- By Adam WolfondOpenings
atmosphere
the meanings
like needing air.
Has the camera
a way to language
time? Of course… - By Zoë Skouldingwhat travessia/trip/travesia/trajet
traverses
the wreck/naufragio/
naufragio/naufrage
of… - By Latif Askia BaThe thing I need now. These periods are part of my samsaric past.
To return. To be closely associated… - By Lydia Harris1
Sunday vellum tongues with words of prayer
Monday messages from the unknown
Tuesday how to… - By Aram Saroyanly ly
ly ly - By Aram Saroyanall all
all all - By Patricia SmithDear ferocious dreamer. Dear maven of song and surveyor of every flung star. Dear meandering romantic, audacious witness, dear listener with the whole of your covetous heart. Dear listener to the air’s brutal and gorgeous music, soft dancer to ballads...
- By Afrizal MalnaTranslated By Daniel OwenIt’s a shame this poem’s already been erased when
I go to read it. Like humid air that tugs
at my arm to catch what will fall, is
falling, and falls. What’s up with erasing? Glue,
scissors, and yarn make a shadow of barbed
wire.... - By Marwa Helalsay i ‘well
particular in one no to
backed ive time first the isnt this
disaster a of out us - By H.D.He and I sought together,
over the spattered table,
rhymes and flowers,
gifts for a name.
He said, among others,
I will bring
(and the phrase was just and good,
but not as good as mine,)
"the narcissus that loves the rain."
We strove for a name,
while the light of... - By Salima RiveraWords, like weeds,
are sprouting everywhere.
My mouth and throat are choked with them,
wild fairy rings waiting to be gathered and dried.
I pick through them and press them between
sheets of cheap paper,
stuff them into envelopes
and mail them out
to anyone who’ll have them.
I’m... - By Lyn HejinianThe spoons have clattered
Aren’t children little pears and observant birds
I note that the green blanket is askew again briefly
I have flung my sweater over the banister again
The corn cockle is beautiful
For months I’ve owed someone I’ll call Amy Rossini a...