Poetry

I tied a naked guy up to a bedpost once. I had to go over his instructions carefully before setting out, the door was unlocked,...

The Plague Year Begins Outside the world blooms without us as we picnic alone on whatever was left when the sirens started a burning in the lungs. How...

Curtains draping over lungs netting over the tiny me in my spine melting and wet like a funeral but only stretched out unfurling into snake swelling into netting so large it chokes out the...

The low-slung sun spreads first-light shadows on a deserted road as it slips between dark doors of locked-down stillness towards this fragile frontier-line in human closeness We doff and don and change...

  Image: "Relaxing" by Chris, licensed under CC 2.0. Mary Buchinger: “how readily I assign holy” is part of a series of poems I’ve...

Went to the meditation but only the snowed-in cardinals heard me. Far from any port, we’re weighted by anchors made of phantoms. A few minutes of...

look, proof from satellites: mass graves on Hart Island, an old plot of land I never knew existed & never thought to visit. the unnamed & unclaimed, the...

(they) don’t want    mass panicsnakes for your ankles snakes for your (body)                  everyone maybe gets their own (air pumps a...

March 2020 My daughter pots plants in the desert. In the desert, pandemic is elsewhere. Or that’s the theorem. If the proof is in percentages, I tell her to...

Dr. Li Wenliang, who was the first to sound the alarm on the outbreak of the pandemic, died in Wuhan a year ago, on...

This morning’s news comes as relentlessly as it has for weeks, and today I watch as Hasidic Jews bury their dead by the hundreds in Brooklyn, rabbis sitting...

The fluorescent light seems to struggle against death. Not dead yet, the fixture pulses every few or several seconds bequeathing humility to the shadows. The light is beacon-like...