Showing results for Poetry
Four Poems
Darin Ciccotelli
Rain drags its cage / through the neighborhood. You / see nothing but // trenches. Rusty shovels, / the alien rocks sprayed / like genitals.
Four Poems
Brandon Melendez
For weeks after, I watched California burn / out my window & on the evening news & the ash // in my cheeks became the only way/ to pronounce home.
Always an Animal at the End of the Leash
Bryce Emley
My dog keeps biting me when he’s scared / and, like anyone, is always scared.
Three Poems
Tom Kelly
With the bobby pin I’ve kept beneath my tongue all morning, / my fingers spring the lock to my parent’s bedroom // where mom’s cherry lipstick glows beneath a seashell lamp.
Three Poems
Alyssandra Tobin
New Jersey as land of claws & fangs & deep fields of grass that stumble onto the side of the highway // New Jersey as fields of soft dirty ice // New Jersey as blondhairblueeyes slapping you in the face at lunch in the cafeteria in front of all your friends
Five Poems
Chris Hayes
I’ve mooned away my marriage, / grounded it, ripped the fuselage / in two, or is the better metaphor
to say I heard the countdown go / from ten to zero and didn’t even / try to stop my wife from breaking / the gravity of disaster planet me?
Four Poems
Su Cho
Field Notes in Haiku
I hear a giant
lives in a stardew valley
I follow the signs:
a knot of sparrows
outlines the shape of a nose—
cold autumn rainfall
the field of yarrow
turned
Serial Poem: Meimei
Kristin Chang
1
[meimei’s a meatness sis slug of blood boat the body tiger the teeth selfie tongue selfie chintilt selfie lilt her lily pucker her puss pin her skin back tap her mouth flap saps herself a shelf
White Lies
Andrey Gritsman
I live my life by white lies.
And poetry is white lies.
Second language is white lies too.
As well as the first.
But language is the only way
to hide love.
White, black, transparent,
or
Asleep in the National Museum
Connor Messinger
He paints using the ashes of the towers in his watercolors.
Not a Walk On The Beach
Jennifer Metsker
The air before me
is the flavor of
an oat cake popsicle.
Or a shoe box.
Or the water sports
I’m not doing.
So I sign for
a prescription
while all the world
is water sporting
in
Recent Books
Pregaming Grief
Danielle Chelosky
Is this new relationship self-sabotage in disguise, or is it the cure?
Backwardness
Garielle Lutz
Garielle's longest, most peculiar, most particularized book. A sure-to-be collector's item. Not be be missed!