Once, there was nowhere to go. Nowhere
to get to. My movement through the slash
pines and saw palms was pure physical
expression.
Poetry
Browse submissions from past editions, web exclusive content, author Q&A, and more.
‘No Place (Dorothy Reconsiders)’ & ‘Dorothy in the Desert’
Out here the din of tin on tin hangs
just below an orphaned smudge of cumulus,
threatening fickle weather.
‘A Mouth And Its Name’ & ‘The Hour After Stars’
You told me north water
was not built by virga
but from suicide of the moon.
Spirit Medium
Now that my pen is made of glass
I pray to write of this loud tree
and not simply fashion
Three Poems
Even if he was a bull angel,
a land whale, a million tumblers of blubber,
a horned prevaricator,
it took dirty tricks to get him.
‘Covenant I’ & ‘Daphne’
the organ harvest is most/ delectable beneath fluorescent light/ rebelling against the heaving stars/
Terrarium
I’ve made the pitcher on my table human again.
Her elegant white neck, belly slightly bloated
with flowers.
(re)peat
The spears, the spires I aspired to be as reaching because what
did you know about tapers.
Birthstones
It is November.
I am mining crystal geodes
from the dead
De vilde svaner (Wild Swans)
That first time I saw myself miraculous, we baked swan-fat
into bread when Satan whispered
