Poetry

When the old designer store downtown went out of business and was razed to the ground, the moldy crater where it had stood was adorned with...

The babies made me invincible. Even as they slept, they protected me. Even as they slept, I could stomach the dark. I could walk up the stairs,...

Dear Rhiannon, Bless you for believing when I said I’d backup danced for Paula Abdul. Bless your sister, who barely arched an eyebrow when you, all awe,...

My hairstylist says she loves Las Vegas because it’s covered in rhinestones. I love rhinoceroses. They are my favorite odd-toed ungulates. When rhinoceroses get together it is called a crash. I would like to get...

disperse you       trace me, trace me trace me back until before you,   until before there was you--   forward until the after-effects of you wear off   how I never want...

The Friday evening gas explosion in Springfield leveled a strip club next to a day care. I remember the breeze right before… Burst of—was it willow—slant-falling. The...

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

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

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

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

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...

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