See how the white crosses rise out of the ordinary, this stretch of freeway indifferent except it holds the loss of someone loved. Bent in the ditch empty of rain, the mourners are artists assembling silk flowers, pinwheels turning in the sun, stuffed teddy bears, t-shirts, handwritten letters, into public sculpture. Monuments of faith, of…
I am your favorite sound.Say galangal and the tongueretreats. Say rhizome and the rootstalkshoots out new growth.We pull it from the ground,carry it gently: a hand. A harvestof red-veined petals we rubon our lips. Tonight, when my ear hungers,I will feed it song. The metallic talkof hummingbirds. The unfolding of a letter,a shovel hitting rock,…
is really three differentmechanized sharks plusfootage of one real shark filmed during a trip to Australiafor that specific purpose. The parts of JAWSthat frighten are the parts where you can’t see the shark. They’re scary becauseyou can’t see the shark. They had to work arounda malfunctioning mechanical shark, rewriting scenes so the shark’s presenceis suggested…
We used to say field in English where we now say battle, where we still say battlefield. As in: many a bloody field was fought. As in: at night, I survey the adrenaline-addled field of my brain. As in: when I’m deprived of sleep for days, the air in the black room holds tiny points…
So thick with sphagnum a person more sure-footed than I amcan balance on its undulating surface, even cross from side to side.Didder. British for how a floating bog quivers when someone steps on the rotting leaves, reeds, and mosses built up over time.What will I find in my mire if not the leathery bodiesof dead kings and commoners? Bent…
AVAILABILITY A boy and a deer, a god-boy holding his window, his mirror. Daphne resting in the window and the curve of the boy’s back. The deer’s delicate legs and hooded Orca eyes. Daphne calling her father, she has no father, she has one of many common river gods for a father who does his impotent,…
The image is of anOocyte breaking freefrom its containingcell wall an almost full moon framedby a whisper curlwhippoorwillof cloudthen later a rainbow tinged frame from below like a sill portends a bonfirefor May culminationsYour birthday again Your experiments are Experiencestranslated into French O so tiredbut seethe lines connectingyou & meme & thee & he light goinginto me goes…
Crop of white furrowssown by splintered light.Pure cold, produce me.Brown mud un-burrowsgreen bark of the coniferwhose needles never leave.
“When he is very ferocious with me I cry;that sets all things straight,” Charlotte Brontë wrote.This passage strikes me as a little sly,yes? In it, Brontë almost seems to gloatabout the way that she has weaponizedher tears, her God-given power to emote.A male biographer once characterizedBrontë as “meek” on the basis of this quote—a reading…
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