Stories
Poetry
You can stand on the edge and tremble with fear or risk your life.
Poetry
After you have read all you possibly can there may be a few lines left.
Poetry
A car curved left, leapt the curb, and came at us like the line of a bullet.
Poetry
Kansas is a cold dessert, I say. No, Kansas is a tongue depressor, he says.
Poetry
One day, we will all turn into choir girls—all soft and hollow inside.
Poetry
These natives have the smiles we haven’t seen since we were children.
Poetry
It wasn’t clear if there was an outside world to our outside world.
Poem of the Week
We did not know at the moment of parting that it was a parting.
Poetry
A simple line of raging wet nearby, how as a kid I pictured the Nile.
Poetry
Wicked fictions wrap a young tongue’s sweet-tipped fibs into fact.
Poem of the Week
In that world I was a fish too eager to enter the nets; here, I’m a river.
Poem of the Week
insomniacs gesturing in a cave of neon light the narrative of their lives
Poem of the Week
What will we do without exile, and a long night that stares at the water?
Poetry
My “lonelymaking.” Also known as my horrible secret, continent-wide.
Poetry
I slept but never dreamed there. Nor did I feel the need to court a god.
Poetry
You are the dark it is trying to leave. You are the screen holding it back.
Poetry
It’s the final lull, if it’s mud loosening its grip, an iron door swinging on dry hinges.
Poetry
No fields of gold. No ripe. One hill, no wave, no roll. I am billboards.
