Category Archives: Poetry

Won’t you listen to me? The night is soft under the weight of Old Gibbous, the opposite side of the moon is lit. There it is in the shadow: heat, where before there was only cold. On full moons in … Continue reading →

A hunger a hurt a tide pool world full yet shallow lost in spent foam of hindcast waves a crushed shell hardened ghosts of a bubble’s iridescent shine only this time the grey horizon line blurred between ocean and sky … Continue reading →

Dear Readers, The best poetry, the transgressional poetry, germinates in an incoherent space. It gushes like a sliced artery, spilling, spattering associations through images and passion and rhythm, a variant of glossolalia that the ancients recognized as divinity and modern … Continue reading →

In the dream it was a hectic day. The animals were restless, disturbed, sensing something in ways I couldn’t: a bark, a mew, a clarion call.   The ghost called on the phone and it was great, just like old … Continue reading →

Simona Supekar’s “The Origin of Zero” redefines Zero as a  powerful identity in the post-colonial imagination. A catalyst for the love between two people, the Zero asserts its history while forging a deeply personal future between the speaker and her … Continue reading →

  You’ve quite the paper trail by now, an account of sticking to what you know: kaleidoscope of club kids dancing to the language of ten -dollar drinks, hand-on-knee, lip-to-ear, sharp white teeth and red lips with nowhere else to … Continue reading →

Je veux to tell you something. It aurait tolka take a malinkee tiempo. Ils sont tolka words, words from a man. Short but not sliskom sweet.   Los intes smile with downward bouches. Vous savez un hombre selument quand il … Continue reading →

Color coded complete with picture I.D. We’ll teach you to be like us. Give you a turtle neck or bow tie You will be our kind of Mensch Complete with certificate of authenticity Credit rating and charge account, Security, savings, … Continue reading →

Birdened   Walking my way to a graduation advising session I think: Twenty-seven and still living at home.   My ripped-seam backpack stuffed with so much right-brain material. An awkward struggle of weight over my shoulder: my spine curls and … Continue reading →

This mantis wasn’t praying. At least the size of a ballpoint pen, this mantis stood blank against the concrete and turned his head to look at me. When our eyes met, I imagined that we were both meditating on this … Continue reading →