January 25, 2023

The Separation Of Earthly Objects

Andrew Mossin

The birth of color begins in the entanglement
of water. Color is the birth of light.

Low clouds morning visitation, the words are
forming separable from their origins. Stars

crease the heavens. I have been moving
into their stream, heavenly bodies, the architecture

loose and ungainly. I’m not one but two, the occupancy
of a system, here in the apparel of another’s

light, to come down these stairs, dawn
weighted with silver, a perimeter that hooks

sky, bleeds our nights into day. There is this
sanctuary, intricate respite, cut-out, here on the floor

Keep Reading

January 4, 2023

Seven Poems from the Museum of Mary

Mary Jo Bang

The Way

If only the waters were still this blue,
the boats this innocent. The sea,
the clouds, the cliff faces: blue, blue, blue.

And me in a red dress with a blue mantle
draped over my lap to keep my legs warm.
It’s true, I’m sitting on a coffin

with the lid down. The lid
is called a crown. The coffin is filled
with what happens when evil takes over

the world and says yes to giving
the lost unlimited hate
and all the weapons they want. You’ll say,

“That wasn’t my fault, I’m like you, Mary,
I was only ever being fabric
and two hands, harmless arms and a mind

filled with maxims—only ever on my way
to tomorrow, my right foot at rest
on the head of a cherub.” Do you hear

Keep Reading

December 28, 2022

Three Poems

Rae Gouirand

Keep Reading

December 14, 2022

To those piggies of an alternate plane whom I greet on the first morning of my ascension and every morning thereafter, such as there are still mornings after the earth, its sun, and all familiar rotations have ended

Danielle Pafunda

Keep Reading

December 7, 2022

Abandon Yourself to That Which Is Inevitable

C. D. Wright

The relict lay reading in the contractor’s bad grass. I used to breathe sleep eat poetry. Until could not see to read except the large-print books, mysteries, tell-alls, and how to build waterfalls, but could see the hollows in the small of his buttocks, the fair hair feathering into his pitchy seam.

I could see rings of brilliance
beyond any visible human means.

Keep Reading

November 30, 2022

Lidded

Clare Beams

Keep Reading

November 16, 2022

Seven Poems

Anne Marie Rooney

Day Book

One wants to grasp a latch.
The broken star, the cellophane.
One suffers if untethered from
the pain that brought a lock.
Across the way the husband tends his teeth.
The wife redresses, parted from her paper.
To emblemize, to separate the word
grief reaches. Grief reaches, unseduced.

Keep Reading

November 9, 2022

Sommerland

James Warner

He had thought for a while of having his ashes placed on a ship propelled out to sea while being set aflame with burning arrows—in his dotage, my father grew obsessed with Norse myth—but in today’s regulatory environment, bringing him here was the closest feasible compromise. “The best moment is when Fenris the giant wolf appears,” he’d told me on Zoom, his voice trembling only slightly. “It draws everyone’s attention, so nobody will be watching you. Do you remember how you used to cry when we got to the wolf?” This sounds more like something Ulf would do, although Ulf doesn’t remember coming here either. Most likely it was a lost intention of my father’s. He might have spent a day talking to strangers in a bar about planning a trip here, an imagined bout of quality time so vivid it became real for him in retrospect. Towards the end, the winter and the lockdown getting to him, my father was drinking forty ounces of vodka a day. I may not have been his favorite son, but I was the one who agreed to scatter his ashes here once, and if, the park reopened after COVID. Ulf would never violate theme park rules.

Keep Reading

November 2, 2022

Slay and Resonance

Amy Catanzano

Slay

“O orzchis ecclesia … es chorzta gemma”
– Sibyl of the Rhine

measureless church … you are a sparkling gem scored
from the lingua ignota, the language of the
unknown. Secret tongue of the sleepless alphabet.
You probe the lowest bass of body’s dark matter.
I swing my hips to your rebel science of spheres.

When you asked if your poem was controversial
I consulted a Penrose diagram made to
see the entirety of spacetime through a black
hole. Light rays at the beginning of everything
null infinity, the channel we now ignore.

So here I am, back at the counterculture, that
open tower in the sky. It travels through the
city within the floating city, wavering
like heat on flexed concrete. I dream of the fractal
fuel we used to turn into optimal stanzas.

Keep Reading

October 26, 2022

Mother, Mother

Michael Stewart

Keep Reading

October 19, 2022

Wolf Suite

Cassandra Whitaker

Keep Reading

October 12, 2022

Work Wife

Taisia Kitaiskaia

Keep Reading

October 5, 2022

Nothing Now Not Happiness

Joseph Donahue

Keep Reading

September 28, 2022

The Querent

C. Michelle Lindley

Keep Reading

September 21, 2022

The City

Matt Greene

Keep Reading

September 14, 2022

Five Poems from Chariot

Timothy Donnelly

Keep Reading

July 27, 2022

Elegies 

Edie Meidav

Silence

I thought I was good because I had borne the brunt of society’s manhandling, because through halls
of terror I fled and gangs of girls followed me, seeking to press thumbs deep into
my arms, cheeks, back of my neck, thighs, because goodness lay heavy in the air around me, because
most around me were powerful underprivileged role models, I thought it good enough
to know and read vexatious histories and in my own private sanctum feel the pain, to dwell
in sorrow through theater and dance, that just by being around, goodness could rub off on a person

Keep Reading

July 20, 2022

Four Poems

Maura Pellettieri

Keep Reading

July 13, 2022

An Excerpt From The Walk or The Principle of Rapid Peering (also known as A Trek of Air, A Living Poem)

Sylvia Legris

Keep Reading

July 6, 2022

Remember When We Were Holy

Tori Malcangio

Keep Reading

June 22, 2022

Memory as Wind

Lance Olsen

No, that’s not it, that’s not how it happens, it’s—

—because I’m here, have been for years and years, in the backseat of the Oldsmobile 88, top down, wind enraged, tearing along some country road at night, Jackson drunk at the wheel, Ruthie by his—

—the world all quick nervous giggles and skinfizz, the whirled world, the world like leaves spinning in a crazy autumn gust, only it’s not autumn, no, that’s, it’s what, it’s—

Keep Reading

May 18, 2022

Selections from On a Terrace in Tangier

Frederic Tuten

Keep Reading

April 27, 2022

Seven Sonnets from Dialoghi d'amore

Gilad Jaffe

birds, vital furniture for our eyes. The floor refoliates
a dozenfold. Months
these days waltz
triple-time
within us. Echoes of fundamental shapes. Great-

grandfather, Harry Houdini’s accountant.
Isaac, our cousin the Don, muscled his way into King’s spitting distance.
All told, say
the performance outlived the performer?
O

Keep Reading

April 20, 2022

Even Absence: Six Poems

Susanne Dyckman

Keep Reading