This morning’s hothouse: a pornography. All my darlings pressing up to watch My fan-dance, velvet spathe flourishing Open to my hidden plush. I will peel down To my inmost creases for you, and your camera Will snap and whine, but we both know You’re not after some glossy shot For your desktop botanical. What you…
Cohen Awards Each year, we honor the best poem and short story published in Ploughshares with the Cohen Awards, which are wholly sponsored by our longtime patrons Denise and Mel Cohen. Finalists are nominated by staff editors, and the winners—each of whom receives a cash prize of $600—are selected by our advisory editors and staff….
meanwhile, back at the castle… the fan made in Taiwan is sputtering. the boring commercials for male enhancement and arthritis cures blare. someone’s dragging their feet. the idiot thugsta in the spanking convertible corners curbside, speakers on boom. space shuttle Discovery cracks the atmosphere. the effing faucet is dripping. the thousand sparrows are singing down…
Varick, yes. Just—oh, Film Forum, sure. Go straight down Carmine and turn left. Wait, did I say to turn onto Houston after Varick? Actually, I’m walking that way. You’re welcome. Actually, you can turn here, before Varick: this street dead ends at Film Forum. In fact, I’m going to Film Forum. Would you like me…
By midnight, Josif had downed five shots of whiskey, flirted with three girls the wrong side of half his age, and sprawled into a table, clattering aside glasses and bottles. It was my fault. I’d brought him. He was a contract worker from Croatia, and, despite monthly sojourns in the States, he had no friends….
1 my eyes are as big and Grimm as china saucers but this is no fairytale. i do my daily doings hurried to purposeful distraction, a couple of snits or fits if things work out—anything to keep my muddling mind off those kith among those missing if i’m lucky the headlines will be so outrageous…
A tang approaches, like the smell of snow. Illness like a color deepens— pale gray, thick-in-a-cloak gray, secret coat silk, and finally the weight of rough pelts heaped on the bed. The last enchantment of the day is tearing pages out of a book. The paper soft and thin, like falling asleep (a hand backstage…
“This is the kind of museum I want to make . . . a museum where those seeking enjoyment can enjoy, those seeking to ponder can ponder, and those seeking to feel can feel.” —Hayao Miyazaki Suggesting the essential role perspective plays in aesthetics, the three main floors of the Sentenced Museum’s permanent collection are…
after A. D. Winans the java fires the lava flowing in my brain hot wet sex-rider screaming stains black cold heart bleeds lightning and rain as the dame in tight red takes the names of simpatico lames. bass notes cut rainbows thru me trues me like falling ten stories into love leaves me drunk and…
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