Stories
Poem of the Week
The coyotes are making a kill. Their voices rise through the darkness.
Poem of the Week
I’m trying to believe I can sense the river when I can’t.
Hard to call beauty an affliction, but I think it is what makes my blindness hurt.
Poetry
Getting over being drunk makes you wonder why the hell you did that.
Poetry
You see, I plan on remaining here as the most foolish god in the world.
Poem of the Week
All that I’ve had, I’ve left propped up in a glass vase: cut stems at rest.
Poem of the Week
No salt tears,
and a continent between her ashes and Father’s.
Poetry
He drowned under a different name, a fake name chiseled in German.
Poem of the Week
If all along we all had known the leaves we leafed would leave us
Poetry
Ideology, all of us inanimate in the face of the onslaught.
Poetry
Still it’s true I began as they did the ones she kept: newt-like moonish
Poem of the Week
I pass my hands over my eyes, mired by the miti-
gation of routine.
gation of routine.
Poetry
Love I know is the husk caught and throbbing under your gums.
Poem of the Week
There’s nothing left to do but crush the garlic, check the water on the stove.
Poem of the Week
The cherry tree’s trance of petals tumbled bit by bit to the sidewalk.
Poetry Contest Winners
A painter dies of a heart attack before finishing a portrait of Churchill.
Poetry
Everything changed. And to our greater shame, nothing did.
Poetry
There it was, the urge to hurt one’s neck by craning toward the dazzle.
Poetry
To enter the dust of their bedroom, to stand invisible on the plush carpet.
Poem of the Week
What that truth is doesn’t matter, finally, because of your persistence.
Poetry
Knowing that it will end i saw myself again at the fair popping balloons
Poem of the Week
ConEd drills the street to dendrites, tapping morse at the old house.
Poem of the Week
Heat heat and the sky a flame of sapphire, even rocks blazing.
Poem of the Week
We boarded a ferry eager for foaming water rushing toward our feet.
Poetry
Fidel narrates the home video: See the women on the beach? Beauty.
Poem of the Week
Staring down the barrel of a black gun I forget I’m no longer just a boy.
Poetry
I was tracing my finger along his hoodied back, to draw the route.
Poem of the Week
We claw over earth, unfurling flowers, knit so close we know power.
Poem of the Week
Let us not forget the desuetude of nailed-shut carousels.
Poetry
David, I don’t know how to say this, but I didn’t think you’d make it.
