POETRY

“Poetry is language at its most distilled and most powerful.”
—Rita Dove
“Artifact,” as Translated from Gluberhöff’s Lexicon

Any still figure at mid-late evening, when the long shadows make even crumbs appear arranged like furniture.

An Interview with Dylan Krieger

Dylan Krieger’s poetry is unflinching, grotesque, and beautiful. Her work tackles trauma, wrestles authority, and is a decadent sonic feast.

[Zoetrope with Particulates in it and a Newborn]

and then her eyes fully opened — blazed through with strands of mud

Black Ghosts of Ponderosa on a Silhouette of Hill

Even as the sun warms the concrete
the long nights’ sensual cold lingers in my clothes.

The love of my life moved from portland to new england

He has stories that I am not in
anymore. It’s healed this way.

Sadness is a Sin

If my life was the size of my arm, I would stretch it out for you.

3:17 AM as Edward Hopper’s Nighthawks

Part of being a good sad person
is always painting the shadows
in the right direction and knowing
what sorrow to art with.

The Kotel in Jerusalem is Filled with Cracks

We found in his suitcase T-shirts, his siddur, gifts he bought for his grandchildren…

Getting Postcards From a Piano Showroom

The two of us toast to a man we both love, to whatever degree, clink our glasses and laugh…

An Endeavor of Being Now

We stop doing dishes while
a mile unwinds
from the tree outside.

i do not want to wait until it’s too late

the strands of your hair on the bathroom tiles aren’t sketching defeat. that’s you spitting disease in the face with another day you’ve woken up to.

Observer of the Patient

Her brown eyes,
how a fig
considers itself.

Soft Porn and Cuban Pine

It recommended
soft porn, as gentle prodding and petting parent
to parent might calm and soothe the kid.

painting of apple and grapes
Feast Of

anger, like you can sink teeth into, candy apple

REVENGE SCENE

Okay, picture this: We’re in an elevator. The elevator shuts down. It doesn’t matter where we’re going, only that we’re alone.

Back Suplex

Gravel-scatted hell &
we were blessed to be able
to hold on for even a heartbeat

Welcome To The House of Static

here is the sky in stop motion, flickering,
a still shot in monochrome

Making Israeli Salad

Now that the Israeli has left, it falls
on me to make the salad.

things they won’t tell you but should:

love is a soggy tea stain on a grocery receipt