Truth or Play
byIt’s sometimes true that poets who write with more abstraction, or at least with a greater theoretical bent, get charged with solipsism; we’re not…
Reviews
God Is The Apple
by[vc_row][vc_column][vc_column_text] How is it possible to write the end of the world? But even this question already reveals an anthropocentric bias. The world, after…
Attention To A Shared, Burning World
by[vc_row][vc_column][vc_column_text] Reading M. Stone’s limited-edition chapbook In Wildness and Knox Gardner’s full-length, collaborative art text Woodland alongside each other recalled for me Georgia O’Keeffe’s…
Two Poems
byTable, 2 After Milosz An empty table, an empty tavern, that image haunts her departure. Everything else is cheap silverware, finger-marked wine stems. Like…
Three Poems
byCave Cricket Belly-up, splay-legged, bow-backed to the things in the dark: my mother will die, my father, my kid. Licked with dread. What I…
Do You Understand What I Am Saying
byWhat is the process we go through to understand someone or something with a fundamentally different consciousness from ours? This is the question I…
Panthalassa
by[vc_row][vc_column][vc_column_text] The light that hummed in the amniotic sea The algae that latticed itself into Tokyo-sized mats in the shallows The moment the world…
All Their Moments Together
by[vc_row][vc_column][vc_column_text] Tree Stories Her small leaves yellowed at the first touch of chill. Then as the northern wind roamed waking the hairs on the…
Ash Wednesday, Offshore
by[vc_row][vc_column][vc_column_text] We cordoned the bay from the ocean and it did not contain the spill. O God, who created the earth, We used napalm…
Three Poems
by[vc_row][vc_column][vc_column_text] Chorus Frog The season of cracking open, bloodroot, egg strings. My grandmother chops the cloddy ground. Many years without him. Onion sets, new…