• Three Poems by Virginia McLure

    On a shelf / on a nail / on top of the door frame / your stares make a triangle / of forward-thrusting gaze. / I dagger down their lines / & slowly, carefully, leg / outside. I check myself: Alive. So it feels right to palm you down / & line your painted faces... Read More

    Dark Chamber by Jimmy Chen

    An illustration in Albrecht Dürer's The Painter's Manual (1525) shows a man attempting to master perspective using a grid through which a reclining model is seen. In the background, two adjacent windows, one functioning as a landscape and the other as a still life, act as grids themselves. For unclear reasons, the model's hand hovers... Read More

    A Thousand Lives by Matthew Jakubowski

    I wondered about the world between books and people, remembering an old idea I’d read, that we exist first as thoughts, then as words on a page, and only by some ghost of a chance, when someone gets lucky, are we eventually made flesh... Read More

    “If I Were Braver I Would Live the Life of an Outlaw”: An Interview with Evelyn Hampton

    What I’m pursuing are moments of being able to articulate as clearly as my voice will allow how it is to be inside a human body and unable, most of the time, to communicate what it’s really like to be inside a human body. I long to feel connected to something bigger than the limits... Read More

    novae by Daniele Bellomi, trans.from Italian by Anton Ivanov

    could have stayed away from the observation point, never again to say / a word about the shadowed part with no one, evaluating distances with eyes / used to a hypothetical explosion, to precede like one proceeds amongst variables / and cautions, proximity to collapse, tracing again the once combusted edge / of anything seen... Read More

    Variations In Which She Invents Herself by George Szirtes

    What she told herself was true, she thought, and wondered what else she could tell herself. / I have invented fictions of myself that seem truer than what I think I know, she thought. / The fiction of self as invention is the only credible fiction... Read More

    Fragments from Gnome by Robert Lunday

    When you drive, the landscapes slide sharply through the sides of your face. They fill your cheeks, your temples, they build behind the eyes and ears. Soon they’re ripped by the wind or a gawker’s stare from the back of your head, and you’re again in the landscape... Read More

    Blood Poppies by Barbara Harroun

    It was 1949. The war still coursed through the veins of the men who made it back, the parents who tended farms their sons would never inherit, the wives who bedded different men than the ones they kissed good-bye... Read More

    Your Famous Sister Walking Through a Plate-Glass Door at the Gehry Museum If It Existed by Forrest Roth

    I distrust people, everyone in this city, those who speak in the anecdotal. Yes I know you did something. We all did. And we all know each other. We know your famous sister, and you and her were, like, aberrant: seeming to cause willful self-injury and thus a seething insult... Read More

    The Thirties by George Szirtes

    It was the Thirties once again. Shop doors / opened on hunger and long queues for soup, / the poor, clothed by the same half-empty stores, / stood round in doorways in a ragged group; / the unemployed were drunk in railway stations, / rumours of war played on a constant loop... Read More