Poetry

Translated from the Slovene by Michael Biggins with the Author Every ball is a bloody, beautiful mask of powerful people. We make up pretzels. I always did like chickens. O, slender fez, mildew perching on its fur. The poet is an oafish celeb on a hood. Of every wondrous power. On a hood. I glance…

At the moment the dog dies some last good leaves your body, Omen. Oh, you, woman without mother, father, lover, this dog with his final sweet breath snout. Harbinger, oh, you: lay thee down in the bracken & brush. In a morning beyond tomorrow morning, by some strength not fully your own, drag yourself to…

For sorrow we have love and the waves dying in.? We can visit our lives in the country of winter trees and blue ruin. ?For the nameless we have silence.? Where tenderness runs out there is tenderness.? A trail descends into the next glen.? Our anti-muse’s hair is the color of loam.? For gospel she…

Translated from the Slovene by Michael Biggins with the Author Radiant white pipe laughing deep down in Jesus’ eyes, the glow is astonished, returns. Wet bandage wrapped around your head, does it hurt? Fra Angelico’s tongue is tin. The ants on it are the hills of Tuscany. What was it that soaked Fra Angelico, nobody…

Translated from Arabic by Fady Joudah The birds’ departure from his heart leaves the plains white where the story is white and sleep is white and silence is the caller’s icon. A laugh of sand will sprout when the door is opened from fear’s angle, a hymn for the grand winter, and the voices of…

We move the same packed box from house to house, off the ancestral farm, now overgrown with glorious, inedible rhododendrons into the rented basement of a mud-lot seeded for next spring. We sweat through shirts to lug it six flights up to a Brooklyn flophouse with a view of the subway station, ship it freight…

Translated from the Slovene by Michael Biggins with the Author I’ve invented a machine that, as soon as a goldfinch opens its throat, starts dumping bags of concrete inside. Who licked the candies into concrete, we don’t know. Who then brought the concrete to life, we don’t know. The goldfinch sails. The goldfinch sings. Where…

Just a few days before her final trip to the ER— after she’d given up bingo and picking up her phone, refused to get out of bed or leave her room, living on a few spoons of broth and saltines she’d crushed with the side of her curled fist? while they were still in their…

There are only two things in the world I don’t know. The square root of 77 is 8.972. The capital of             Michigan is Kalamazoo. Most everything is simple if you know where to go. The Internet is a gold mine. The dictionary is good too,             and there are still only two things in…