Three Poems from From A Winter Notebook by Matvei Yankelevich
It sounded so much better before I wrote it down, / even my jealousy seemed wingéd, like Marina’s. / Does the road wind up hill all the way? My teeth will rot, / but I’ll be rot, I hope, before that happens — then will words / mean what they say, finally…, then will you... Read More
Fragments from Moon Ring by Annie Le Brun, trans. from French by Alicen Weida
Children of this century, avert your gaze. Lips are no longer on every word. Words climb pell-mell onto the backs of things. And things, wandering in the desert of their own erosion, seek to bribe our bones, the uncertain keepers of a fortified mirage... Read More
Three Poems by Kirsten Ihns
sneezer in the foi yay, permitted as i am to name my hour / the pummeling quality that uniquely static can, i take it on / i produce a horrible noise / i intensify / the horrible noise i track across the surface of text every time / mud / no i track the slow... Read More
Carnelian by Naomi Falk
And not all touches aim to fix. We are forming something anew. I’ve grown my nails so I can brandish them on my lovers; to pass light strokes over their surface out of boredom or to leave gestural trenches of punctured sin. I often confront our seeking of pain during intimacy within the context of... Read More
Desert Vivant by Isabel Sobral Campos
no point thinking from carcass to cemetery / no point thinking, or if thinking, the thought / licks the pebble or desert domed cloud / it weighs then beats brow / now that / ancestors sleep with sharks / the herring haunts these waterless place / a sculled face... Read More
Editor’s Note: Vestiges_04: Aphasia
A Dada ad leaves an analysand uncooperative, speechless; a situationist détournement… propels words beyond the pleasure principle… Because there is so much toil and injustice in the use of language… two images begin to take shape. One of the rich mystic unscrolling their parchment; and… one of the police officer turning the pages of a... Read More
Six Prose Poems by Alistair McCartney
When I die, my memory—or do I mean your memory of me?—will dissolve like the Platonic (abstract) form of a cube of sugar in a cup of tea, like the post-abstract expressionist (Neoplatonic) form of the corpse of a boy in a hot pink ceramic tub of hydrochloric acid, correction: sodium hydroxide... Read More
Nightboat Books & Black Sun Lit AWP Offsite Reading at Passages Bookshop
Friday, March 29, 2019, 8 PM: Please join Nightboat Books & Black Sun Lit for an AWP offsite reading, featuring Erin Fleming, Evelyn Hampton, Gracie Leavitt, Eugene Lim, Fred Schmalz & Aldrin Valdez... Read More
Five Poems by Anna Gurton-Wachter
I get to re-experience / a fly bouncing / off the walls / equivalency began / each time I swell / a cloud or angel / evoked off-hand / I don’t think I would / separate myself / accept love sad art / unanswered / how it is... Read More