Poetry
Poem of the Week
I am struck by the otherness of things rather than their sameness.
Poem of the Week
I did lose my dirty fingernails and ragged legs, my purpled forearms.
Poem of the Week
A suitcase of the body slapped with stickers of scars from every location.
Poem of the Week
The orderlies see him in the mirror and mistake it for his twin.
Poem of the Week
The cat was your cat, the bed your former bed, the moon the moon.
iPoems
let me fall through some small bore into your tiny breathing eden
Poetry
Don’t send me home without a round of applause if not a title.
Poem of the Week
The pumpkins are looking up my skirt, making orange a kind of festive.
N30B Winners
Something has to be what this is, old and primitive, and it sounds like this.
Poem of the Week
The moon rescinds its blessing, rests its forehead on a crosier of ivory.
Poem of the Week
She was bad. A cool bad. All third-graders wanted bad like hers.
Poem of the Week
All the woods are alive with the murmur and sound of Spring.
Poetry
I’m always driving through the desert, on the interstate’s black river.
Poem of the Week
Each time he retells that morning my dad forgets I was there too.
Poetry
I listened all my boyhood, but my listening couldn’t save me.
Poem of the Week
Ice and evergreen and sun; three moments arranged for human looking.
Poem of the Week
she will unchew the dried bulbs of history, spit them at the foot of her post.
Poem of the Week
In the Nablus apartment she remembers rolling hills of citrus.
Poem of the Week
When I was a child I once hallucinated that the laugh track was for me.
iPoems
You won’t allow me to play with your baby, nor come live in your home.
Poetry
I never entered no-man’s-land by any light brighter than the palest moon.
Poem of the Week
You move rocks, run water, check the path of mouse and rabbit.
Poem of the Week
A man and a woman joined by newspaper pages culture to politics.
iPoems
To keep the baby safe, we sealed the house as if against bad weather.
iPoems
We’re phosphorus, we’re this glowing rock under UV light in the mineral shed.
Poem of the Week
I confessed to loving another man, streetlamp sequin on a rain puddle.
Later, in sleep, your arms opened to me. Mid-snore compromise.
Poem of the Week
My soul’s parts know little and don’t care whether I live or die.
Poem of the Week
Before we were ornament, we were names
moving in a mouth.
Classics
I like that it’s not me you pine for, and like that I don’t pine for you.
