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
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
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
Episodes from OMAR by Sam Truitt
0. / Prison / — / the pervasiveness of penology / — / to be inside a thing and unable/unwilling to leave / — / some involuntary but most to varying degrees riding it / — / or climbing its walls / — / the glass mountain and relation to the practice of the open... Read More
Two Poems by Sawako Nakayasu
Girl F’s the getting, and tiredness is the reference, and the other is girled by their initials. There’s the decisive finding, that is, the name-outer, the girl-eacher, the come what may, but there are also some extremely marching shes, which makes Girl J say very well why there was so much Hi, name, fuck, of... Read More
Excerpt from Agnomia by Róbert Gál, trans. from Slovak by David Short
Even errantry has paths to follow. One could speak of being freed of the compassion that necessarily follows from circumstances. In her case, this means that when they’re dancing and she’s twirling around them she’s the only one who’s not dancing... Read More
Two Poems by Krystal Languell
I shook out my reading material / asked if it was okay to be seated / then sat comfortably / maybe one more month and / her baby could have lived / she got a tattoo to remember / carved a thin tulip for a skull... Read More
The Lydian by Théodore de Banville, trans. from French by Patricia Worth
Not long ago and not far away, a sculptor in love with his statue, as in the days of Pygmalion the King of Cyprus, reproduced the same miracle and brought her to life, transforming the marble into living flesh through which glorious blood flowed by his will and the force of his overpowering desire... Read More
German Letters, 1935 by Dong Li
mild winter no snow it is a sunny day Dölzschen alive the cemetery full of locals flowers laid words left in fogged breath will return after a short walk taken slowly they are hesitant to leave the house Nichelschen the tomcat died last night... Read More
Saint-Ouen | Stalingrad by Marie Silkeberg, trans. from Swedish by Kelsi Vanada
Rashomon. The Demon’s Gate you say. / I understood that it had opened. / Only a few more seconds. And it would be opened wide. / Time would stratify. / It snowed. The first snow fell... Read More