POETRY

“Poetry is language at its most distilled and most powerful.”
—Rita Dove
melting ice cap
blue is the color of surrender

you know that
baby swallows make silver ripples
in wild rivers to court reeds?

Despairathon

You’ve spent a lifetime training
for this.

There is an alternative universe

Ghosts for hire, whispers in her mouth,
cysts to feel, the symmetry of a gift.

Snow Falls from Branches

Should have found a job by now; should have slept in the night;
should have boiled old coffee before noon.

I Garden at the Edge of Autumn

There is so little left of the tomato plants.

Good Driver

Lights on the dashboard spell out
“You still can’t kiss me”

Back Suplex

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

heavy rain
The Plot

Long after midnight, we’re talking about our first time

Willpower

Live the rest of your life
from one worst case to another.

Going Broke

Winter sat like a wolf
on the horizon.

Pit Stop in Kansas

we drove on through
the blue seal of morning as the turbines
turned and winked out their hearts

Landscape with Ash

You are strange, my mother said, dwelling on the past.

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 River

I myself should never have been born

I could, even now, go down to the water

Even from this distance I could go out
the door it would bang shut and crumble

Electric Eels, Finishing School, Teeth

Millions of Americans have been affected by identity theft. It’s probably the greenhouse gases.

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.

You can’t make them love you, no matter how artfully you betray yourself

Try not to see your own predicament in every fucking thing.

Unerased | Steep Steps

My grandmother asked, “Does it feel like being widowed?”