Millions of Americans have been affected by identity theft. It’s probably the greenhouse gases.
The sin is existing.
It recommended soft porn, as gentle prodding and petting parent to parent might calm and soothe the kid.
In my universe, my arm carries a heart and flowers, my back a misguided quote
here is the sky in stop motion, flickering, a still shot in monochrome
Dylan Krieger’s poetry is unflinching, grotesque, and beautiful. Her work tackles trauma, wrestles authority, and is a decadent sonic feast.
Mostly he ate what was put on his plate snuck coffee grounds or dirt for a snack Once a zipper Unzipped
The poetry of Brian S. Ellis unravels, inverts, investigates, and complicates. His poems are radical koans and invitations to forego common narratives.
Just starlight and some small scribbling across vinyl.
Any still figure at mid-late evening, when the long shadows make even crumbs appear arranged like furniture.
He has stories that I am not in anymore. It’s healed this way.
love is a soggy tea stain on a grocery receipt
The storm passes without snow. The car waits loyally in the back lot.
Listen to me: I know the winter gloom in mid-summer…
If America is Babylon / and you are an exile / newly arrived among pagans / Catholic, ‘Ngolan, Black, woman / you already know how to pray
my love is a glass shard, a knife made of madness and moonlight, and there are already way too many fragments in this house
Her brown eyes, how a fig considers itself.
the man is stayed bent over the canvas of my sofa. the man is me the man is him self and I bring down the whip…
I slumped in front of a massive desk, a passive patient corroded with failure and dread.
I want to roll in this moment until I become its vocabulary until I smell like the bones until I am its echo…