Emotions wrestle with physicality in the twisted sheets of Erotic.
In fifty numbered verses—many with the diamond-like compression of Emily Dickinson—Stevens Kane explores how the daily reality of the body suddenly can become extraordinary, paranormal—and how the science of events—such as gravity—can give way to the spiritual…
It was the summer the Israelis withdrew, leaving
a landmined no-man’s-land of phosphorus orange groves,
blighted with white like the kingdom of the Snow Queen.
We are halfway between Bedford and Pottersville:
the kindness of community, the chill greed of despair.
In her latest collection of poems, an award-winning poet explores resistance and hope among the Palestinian people.
The officer stopped at my seat and thrust his face toward mine. “Are you an American?”
In memory of Octavia E. Butler (June 22, 1947 – February 24, 2006) In the bus bay, stark half-darkness of a ship corridor, propellant smell of diesel. Clayark obliterates Greyhound—blur of fur on … Continue reading →
keep breaking. A midnight cough sharp as a rifle shot cracks a rib. Hefting a hissing tomcat by its scruff shears a wrist. It’s not only skin that consents … Continue reading →
For Molly Moore Rush Pacifism is dangerous. Thomas Merton, the Trappist monk who rose above his Seven-Storey Mountain to the Buddhist peaks of Nepal, was electrocuted by a faulty fan … Continue reading →
I enter through security as taxpayer, the needle’s eye of citizenship. Bag on the table, keys in a plastic container that could hold mail or explosives. The only way in … Continue reading →
Unfathomed, the deep blue sea is black and bitter – Arabic coffee boiled three times in a copper pot. Drink to the silted grounds in heart-scalding gulps. Turn your cup … Continue reading →
For Raff Ellis How many generations have we been peddlers of notions, our ribbons of battle fluttering from kashishi – livelihood out of suitcases – from packs, from the karra … Continue reading →
For John Reoli to be of arab descent is a practice of disassociation, you write. I read dislocation, wrenched identity. Hanging limply from sorrow’s shoulder. You write, i guess … Continue reading →