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Waking Up

A prose poem woke up in an alley. He was lying on the pavement among trash bins, empty bottles, cigarette butts and the smell...

The Wedding Toppers

A bride and groom, two figurines, topped a wedding cake. After the wedding photographer had backed into the cake to try to get a...

Bird Skull with [ ]

A poem of erasures and passages in-between, of negative space and images with holes right through the heart of them

Passport to Brooklyn

Have you forgotten which bus takes you down Flatbush Avenue—ballpark where on Saturday afternoons, a beer-bellied mechanic rounded the bases all the way

THE KING DIED AND THEN THE QUEEN DIED

E.M. Forster’s definition of plot is less about plot than the length of narrative you drag around. You hear it all the time: after sixty years...

TO PARADISE, I GIVE MY HALF-FORGOTTEN DREAMS

I. So this is it. Is it singular in itself still, whole, inviolate despite the many depredations? You can see slender branches waving gently...

Boxwood Hedge

Citizens, drive! from radioactive waters in the Southern provinces, arthritic still and disappointed.   O neighbors and colleagues Come out of your FourRunners, etc. Empty your cars of your...

NOW, IT IS JOY THAT IS PROHIBITED—THE THING THAT ESCAPES ALL...

Oh no, do not follow the Peruvian President's daughter on Twitter

Aphorisms for a Lonely Planet

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SWITCH OR AXE

Because someone has to go back, I return to that boy showering unaware of his stepdad listening at the bathroom door with its little hook for the...

EXPEDITION NOTES

"I would need to/learn to half-sleep standing up, always alert for/the leaf that could fell me."

Greetings from Paradise

How is your heart? How is your hallux? How is your inner sea horse?