Three Prose Poems by Yoo Heekyung, translated 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
Three Texts by Phoebe Glick
I looked into the center of an abstract painting and saw my own face, painted by someone who cared for me deeply. You were on the fence about whether you wanted to fuck the painting or one day become the painting. I reached over and touched your hand. It was wet, and you held mine... Read More
The Third by Claire Donato
There is no sequitur in the previous sentence, I realize. I got carried away by the sound of her head falling on the floor. Subsequently, I picked up the shards and rearranged them into a distorted portrait, through which I perceive a foreboding sense of self... Read More
Three Prose Poems by Sheila E. Murphy
Now I lay me dormant as a spot. The clock taps shoulder length and hairlines fracture plot. I think the story was a maze, and you, my inkblot, told the tale of me toute seule where I would whisper your soft name, the frame of it, the hemline brushing tile... Read More
Three Texts by Gabriel Blackwell
Fenollosa, whose invention was simultaneously Pound’s most intriguing and least faithful translation, writes that “no full sentence really completes a thought [because] motion leaks everywhere... Read More
Three Poems by Zoe Tuck
How do I write our way in without building a wall, a gate? Here I am looking for an answer from your words, forced instead by circumstances back into my inner resources... Read More
My Glamorous Box by Vi Khi Nao
In Vegas, I live in a box. In a beautiful box for 4.5 months. And, it looks like this: / Where the light is miraculous. / There are radiations in my winter. My summer is skydiving. / I have been waking up in a cloud of fog. This weightlessness that is filled with liquid deterrent... Read More
Record of a Tryst In Tokyo by Eisuke Yoshiyuki, translated from Japanese by Marissa Skeels
The jazz grew fiercer in the colored spotlight’s rays, as if sobbing or adrift on rough beats, spitting tapes of lust as white as seed... Read More
Dear Prudence by Marream Krollos
Once somebody said that these girls we teach are only going to go on to eat homemade pies all day waiting until their fat husbands come home to fuck them. Only a dream for the rest of us girls in the world… our bodies having already split apart with ways men make war... Read More