Except for the first single-celled organism
preposterously long ago, firecracker snapped
from a vast nothing, the earth is mulch & rot.

A comic about a yak, that may or may not be an anarchist, in a world that is huge and/or the yak may be incredibly tiny.

Maria say she gon' tell me the future. She say she know. Mama taught her, but Maria had that gift, not her mama. The real kind. She'd seen all kinds of things 'fore they happen, like her brother shot dead in that parking lot, she'd seen it all four days before it happened.

What you gon' tell me I don't already know? I say.

“We’re playing Memory Palace. It’s a medieval memory technique. If you need to remember a list of things, you pick a place that you remember well, like your childhood home or your office or your apartment, and you make a narrative...

If I were a room,
I would be transparent.

If it hadn’t been for my day job, I never would have gone to Steve’s Shoes. I was a personal assistant to a famous... more

Just in time for the opening bell (or is it more approrpriately an opening toast) of AWP in Boston tomorrow, we present Daniel... more

There were wolves near there. Wolves killing sheep. Poetry is dead. He thought. He could lend a hand.

Kathryn was doing all she could to get her son to touch his food again. She wanted him to eat. “I don’t know what to do,”... more

  Happy Birthday    You push your bike on the worn pathway into the bushes. You enter my apartment with... more

A hand over your mouth. A hush in the darkness. It’s the girl, whose name reminds you of another, who you remember marrying in some uncertain future or almost-forgotten dream.

You wake up to the sound of someone smashing white rocks outside your window. Only it's not rocks. You're just in a city made entirely of bones.

The man woke up and walked to the bathroom. He relieved his bladder and looked at himself in the mirror. He looked at the clock. 6:25. He... more

I read for the same reason that I fish. So I can feel what I can’t see.

A panel of grandfathers lived in the girl like a Greek chorus. One day she woke and they were building themselves bleachers. After that... more

Self-portrait as fogged up car. / Self-portrait as Home Depot // parking lot at 3 AM, no cars, / no people. Self-portrait with // grocery cart with someone else’s / left behind list.

The Platonic Man cries whenever I cry. Tears will be streaming down my face and I’ll look up and he’ll be... more

She said, during the commercial break, that she was a fan of westerns. I said, I loved the train... more

We pull into the campground and it’s just like I imagined it would be: chaparral scrub receding to oaks and firs as we move up... more

  "Thought of you and our conversations this morning when I read David Shields' Riff column in the... more

Hello, readers. This is the first of two interviews with writer Ron Currie Jr. on the occasion of the publication... more

I can take just about anything now. Like how I returned from Christmas vacation to an inch of melted snow and a gaping hole above... more

Looking for the right angle He poo-poo’s my relationship to nature, even when I tell him about touching the dead... more

It’s the new plan, Shooter.  Poetry for broken systems.  Insurance rider attached. 

  To London With Love Artist: Wilhelm Blech Album: Musicus Miscellanous; Christian Dean & Musica Immunda Label:... more

Five years ago I took some pills hoping to lose the perpetual 10-15 pounds that I would always like to... more