POETRY

“Poetry is language at its most distilled and most powerful.”
—Rita Dove
Clueless & Briefly Gorgeous

I buy too much, for someone of my stature.
could pawn a skinny metaphor to purchase a plump skin.
its reputed in our lineage— to daydream a life that shreds our pockets.

Electric Eels, Finishing School, Teeth

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

things they won’t tell you but should:

love is a soggy tea stain on a grocery receipt

A Beautiful Thing

I want to roll in this moment until I become its vocabulary
until I smell like the bones
until I am its echo…

Snow Falls from Branches

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

heavy rain
The Plot

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

Back Suplex

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

Letter To a Young Poet

Do not say anything anybody else has said ever. Things are not “bleached by sun.”

Making Israeli Salad

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

An Endeavor of Being Now

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

Condolences

my friends’ fathers are
dropping
I mean dying
like flies

painting of apple and grapes
Feast Of

anger, like you can sink teeth into, candy apple

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.

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.

“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.

Ode To the Dove Pt. VI (Avrom Sutzkever)

Yes I am guilty, I’m guilty. A sin was desirable then.
Bring the dancer back to the stalks.

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.

On the Night Row-Houses Across the Street Catch Fire

You let the yellow glow
from eye sockets. The building up the street
is burning faster and faster.

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.