Ma wrings a wet world of colors
Gravel-scatted hell & we were blessed to be able to hold on for even a heartbeat
We found in his suitcase T-shirts, his siddur, gifts he bought for his grandchildren…
Even as the sun warms the concrete the long nights’ sensual cold lingers in my clothes.
a folksome, gruesome opera of gauze and malcontent.
Dylan Krieger’s poetry is unflinching, grotesque, and beautiful. Her work tackles trauma, wrestles authority, and is a decadent sonic feast.
The poetry of Brian S. Ellis unravels, inverts, investigates, and complicates. His poems are radical koans and invitations to forego common narratives.
I would always rather be happy than dignified. Rather held than held in awe.
how does an afternoon turn on its axis?
I’msorry I‘ll see what happens iLife
In my universe, my arm carries a heart and flowers, my back a misguided quote
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.
If my life was the size of my arm, I would stretch it out for you.
I have observed, the theorist I am
You let the yellow glow from eye sockets. The building up the street is burning faster and faster.
you know that baby swallows make silver ripples in wild rivers to court reeds?
I want to roll in this moment until I become its vocabulary until I smell like the bones until I am its echo…
The two of us toast to a man we both love, to whatever degree, clink our glasses and laugh…
Any still figure at mid-late evening, when the long shadows make even crumbs appear arranged like furniture.
I suffer visions and many indignities while looking for the Lobster