Excerpt from No Material by Losarc Raal
Times will change the cobalt heaven tongues. I walk people into water past the hippo lights. Black model railroad track. Doctor of the upper wake plea. My heart is hollow; my skin waives tears... Read More
Three Prose Poems by Marc Vincenz
Unreclined at the peninsula’s end, a mile from the city where your feet become the night unveiling—too far to hear of the siege of cicadas where Sister’s coat lies perched against the dark... Read More
Three Prose Poems by Lee Min-ha, trans. from Korean by Jein Han
m is for my name, h is for your name my name, blue-backed snare, sharp oxygen, gasping for air I went to lustrous june’s fleshmarket to sell the apricot-colored uvula caught in my throat... Read More
Three Poems by Michelle Gil-Montero
I had this murmur, this tremor in my mouth. This whisper of running water, now overgrown with wildflowers. I had this thought of the Alhambra, this chalky color caught in folding mirrors... Read More
Winter Cinemas by Emmalea Russo
A cloud streams through dirt detergent haunted jewels as Marguerite Duras watches a fly die... Read More
Five Poems by Adam Day
Remembrances almost live,” all history at once,” itself alienated from cause effect.” Makes several centuries “simultaneously present,” while revealing a causal narrative in a sequence of construction... Read More
Now Spring, Now Fall by Bonnie Chau
Antelope shows me something handmade, but all I see are words that seem pulled from my own mind... Read More
Two Prose Poems by Christine Scanlon
if I cut this way, you circle in two. it hurts, the way lines are drawn. with color of dissent. if you have forgotten, it’s as if you break apart from being. retreat to your hym(n) section. then we parry on... Read More
Three Prose Poems by Yoo Heekyung, trans. from Korean by Stine Su Yon An
i am so very curious about the thing you said you’d planted and i wonder why you are so sick of such peonies, you who would have brushed off your hands loudly after planting them... Read More
The Torque of Thought by Tom Carlson
The dance only aspires toward that which it is, disclosing neither truth nor rule, but rather the persistence of itself as flux and torque... Read More