N E W   A D D I T I O N S

Conjunctions on the Web features an ever-expanding constellation of innovative fiction, poetry, drama, interviews, and other work by some of the leading literary lights of our time. Over 500 works from the past twenty years of Conjunctions are archived here, ranging from established masters to younger generation writers--and including new writers for the future.
     We are always adding new selections to our current inventory of contemporary writing.

Subscribe to Conjunctions here. Or to receive notifications of our weekly Web Conjunctions publications, announcements when we post full texts from our forthcoming or current issue, and alerts for new recordings available on Audio Vault, join us on Facebook or follow us on Twitter.

Below is a partial list of work published by Conjunctions on the Web:


Kirstin Allio, Four Poems
Climate change in retro-/ grade, Mercury strikes/ a tuning fork, listen.


Thea Brown, Four Poems
All day all I think is I’m tired and typing, ticker.


Dennis Finnell, Three Poems
a few acorns forgotten/ under the national soot// so much wonderland/ a can of borscht in the larder


New to Audio Vault: Paul Lisicky reads from The Narrow Door.


Robert Kelly, Two Poems
The architect is everywhere./ So many solutions/ to no problem, like poetry.


Elizabeth Robinson, Five Provence Poems
Safety lives high above itself, protected from what it needs./ It sees what it sees, sees/ a cave in its flank.


John Madera, The House That Jack Built
This is the house that Jack built, an “existential reflection,” as she’d have it.


Can Xue, Euphoria, translated by Karen Gernant and Chen Zeping
Ms. Wen sat in a dark room pondering the structure of the universe. Then she stood and opened the window, whereupon all kinds of obscure shadows wandered in.


Robert Coover, The Wall
Once, there were two lovers, separated by a wall that divided their city, a wall they had helped to build, recruited by the warring city fathers, who declared that only a wall would ensure their freedom.


Kathryn Davis, The Botanist’s House
Mostly, she needed to put it all behind her, and by “all” she meant all of us, as well as the events of her life, what people call memories.


Nathaniel Rosenthalis, Four Poems
He was looking out a window/ in a room he had agreed to. “What then,” / he said, “let a few more in?”


Byron Landry, From The New Encyclopedia
Little is known about the pre-Socratic philosopher Polycyathus, and that little unlikeable: he was born at Dodona, and was old when Socrates was young (Plato reports that Socrates once tried to question Polycyathus, but that the latter quickly “succumbed to wine-sleep”); he taught the doctrine that “nothing is good”; he believed that, of all the forms of governance, tyranny was best, because “it breeds monuments.”


New to Audio Vault: Robert Olen Butler reads from Perfume River.


Rebecca Lilly, Three Poems
mirrored      clouds               now
virtual                  glitter       their
idyll                      the first person


New to Audio Vault: Francine Prose reads from Mister Monkey.


Danielle Pafunda, Bleached Pink on the Line
We’d been there too long. Portia’s red slip bleached pink on the line, Mr. B getting to know the local girls by name.


Daniel Poppick, Three Poems
I was struck/ By your brevity/ Can you speak further/ About honing that/ Particular skill


Ellen Hinsey, Internal Report on the Rise of the Inconceivable
Overall, The Inconceivable believes itself of clear mind and conscience, and as such, a model of elegant comportment.


Rikki Ducornet, Metamorphosis and the Surreal
The surrealist universe is unabashedly sexed and eagerly embraces nature’s infinitely mutable manifestations.


New to Audio Vault: At the Lesbian Herstory Archives in Brooklyn, Bradford Morrow, Nicole Nyhan, Ellen Datlow, Micaela Morrissette, and Ashley-Luisa Santangelo read from the James Tiptree Jr. letters to Joanna Russ featured in Conjunctions:67, Other Aliens


Sylvia Legris, Two Poems
Damp-squib grammar of pretty things and wild mignonette./ Quercitron bark. Old Fustic’s persistently pissy stamen,/ the peony-stained wallpaper.


Rob Walsh, The Compound
The money was from a corporation, if that makes any difference to you, and not enough to buy everything we wanted.


New to Audio Vault: John Crowley reads from his novel in progress, a history of crows.


New to Audio Vault: Can Xue and Bradford Morrow read “Blue Light in the Sky” in Chinese and English.


Benjamin Landry, Ten Poems from Passagen
Pan speaking panisms at the church/ of Christ, Pantokrater, in place/ of the usual docent, breast of sportscoat/ bulging with his pipes.


New to Audio Vault: Andrew Ervin reads from Burning Down George Orwell’s House.


T. D. Walker, Two Poems
Day calls or what passes for day here. I leave you/ sleeping in this light that comes later each morning,/ as if we were approaching winter, not the moon/ we aim for


John Poch, Two Poems
Nothing like a view of the sea to remind you/ there are multiple happinesses in any moment


Adrian Van Young, The Man Who Wore Death
There once was a man who wore high khaki pants and button-up shirts with the faintest blue stripes.


Michael Holt, How We Got into This
My house was the color of silence and dust. Bright things tried to come out in it but they were usually absorbed back into the carpet.



Quintan Ana Wikswo and Craig Foltz, The Heart Is an Organ Which Must Be Bled
No wonder the damselflies scatter when our kind confer. We are now linked organisms, but still we move away from one another. Twinned, but not beholden to the shackles of cellular differentiation.



Alex McElroy, There Are No Footprints Today
To Jefferson I am constantly lying. He lies to me too. We lie by refusing to discuss the terrible things we have done.



Kate Folk, Heart Seeks Brain
At happy hour, my coworker Sarah and I bond, in the way of women, by cataloguing the flaws of our internal organs.



Charlie Jane Anders, Reliable People
We have no quota, no set hours. We keep going for as long as burnt coffee recharges us, slouching in lumpy plastic chairs that scritch on the parquet floor of a ground-floor office whose single plate window is blotted by standees of the Candidate, wearing a reassuring smile and a dark pantsuit.


Jeffrey Ford, Not Without Mercy
Although it sank out of sight, they could hear it still burbling, and now sputtering, choking, and giving off a whispered growl like a demon purring.


Brian Evenson, Smear
Aksel could see a smear, something just inside the vessel’s skin. He blinked, rubbed his eyes. It was still there.


Paul Park, Blind Spot
The thing is, you can’t tell the difference. At least not from the outside. Because of interbreeding and genetic manipulation.


Laura Sims, Walking Dead Love Songs
I was born/ and then I died.// I was born and then/ I died fighting. I was// born and then I died fighting zombies while the sand/ ran out of the holes in my hands back down to the bottom/ of the ocean.


Christopher Janigian, Five Poems
One decoy waits/ to be retrieved. One/ craves the bite of/ something bigger


New to Audio Vault: Robert Coover, Stephen O’Connor, and Elizabeth Gaffney read from their work in Conjunctions:66, Affinity: The Friendship Issue


John Madera, You Should Have the Body
Two things: You can’t see it coming when you don’t know whether you’re coming or going. You have to see some things many times before you see it, and sometimes not even then.


New to Audio Vault: Andrew Ervin and Paul Lisicky read from their work in Conjunctions:66, Affinity: The Friendship Issue


Samuel R. Delany, Part III of The Atheist in the Attic
I’ve known poor men who slept with a handkerchief with which the grand lady of the house wiped away her pee, having fished it from the latrine, and a prince who cherished a handful of leaves that a beggar woman threw in the woods as he spied on her, once she swabbed away her own.


Samuel R. Delany, Part II of The Atheist in the Attic
“There they were, one headless, one with his hands hacked off, hanging like two mutton carcasses from a gibbet on the raised octagon of stones in front of the jail.”


Samuel R. Delany, Part I of The Atheist in the Attic
Shortly after I accepted employment with the duke, John Friedrich, in November 1676, I, Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz, arrived at the house of the Amsterdam acquaintance with whom I’d be staying for three weeks while performing legal offices for my patron.


Amanda Auerbach, Seven Poems
Looks like sugar./ Let it enter.


Yannick Murphy, Too Much for Adele
All the letters she sends to Le Moucheron aren’t sent back, but neither are they answered.


Kyle Coma-Thompson, Two Stories
We, being Found People, know lostness when we see it. We feel it like a vibe running through the antennae of our bones.


Laynie Browne, Everyone and Her Resemblances
She took charge of my imaginary presence/ Which of the women is she?/ She is the one who refuses to say


David Hollander, Among
But Max didn’t sail back through a day and a night. He didn’t return across a tumbling sea. His dinner wasn’t still warm. None of that is true.


New to Audio Vault: Eli Gottlieb reads from Best Boy.


Rob Schlegel, Two Poems
When I say, The best artists are exceedingly/ generous, Kisha says/ The question is not/ are paintings irrelevant, but what to do/ when your friends// leave


Daneen Wardrop, From Feral Girl
as damage crawls along floors/ or breathes through baseboards


Jen Burris, Correspondence Messenger
To light, waiting for morning, between two things—her silent face, this rock


Meredith Stricker, To Waken as Field
unbaptized, undocumented/ stars watch us more intently in/ bright daylight when we cease/ to believe in them



Liza Birnbaum, From Red Bird Most
Afternoon. No one knows what to say. I’m sorry or I’m sorry for your loss or It’s just terrible or He’s with God now or God works in mysterious ways or We’re praying for you or Your family’s in our prayers or How did you know him or How did you find out or Oh, and have you been to Montclair before or And it’s just so sweet of you kids to come and help out Gwen and Patrick or And how old are you or And did you go to school with him or And what is it that you do.


New to Audio Vault: Rick Moody reads from Hotels of North America.


Edie Meidav, An Interview with Quintan Ana Wikswo
My inability to recognize faces makes the desire to form a consistent image of a person quite connected to my intent focus on perceiving and memorizing the rhythm of someone’s speech, the intonations within their questions, the length of their sentences. I will recognize them later by their language.


Jedediah Berry and Emily Houk, Hansel, Gretel, Grendel
The Boy walks with mud on his sneakers, kicking at skunk cabbage, slapping mosquitoes. On his T-shirt are gallows birds, fanged demons in wizard-whorl, skullheaded soldiers. He has come to the forest to scavenge parts for his monster.


Brandon Hobson, The Cardinal
Everyone at school hated him, but for a while he was my only friend. He ate cockroaches for a dollar and huffed paint behind the woodshop building.


Robert Clark, Trailer
He would rather talk; talk at all costs regardless of the wants of body or soul. Like me, he cared only for words.


Robert Coover, From Huck Out West
It was up in Minnysota that Tom made up his mind to give over cowboying and take on the law.


John Ashbery, Two Poems
The men on top of the hill/ launched a new dirt lobby


New to Audio Vault: Noy Holland reads from Bird.


Karen Donovan, Seven Pieces
She painted clouds, he hunted amber. She counted eggs, he angled rainward.


Joseph Aguilar and Daniel Miller, Four Marriages
We descend. We pass through the roof, inside the house, onto the scuffed hardwood floor, down a long dim hall, where we search out our subjects.


Lucy Biederman, Four Poems
The easiest job in America wouldn’t be easy enough for me.


Matthew Vasiliauskas, The Old Country
From the time I was ten, I knew I might have to incinerate my father.


Wendy Walker, From Sexual Stealing
useless precipitation/ taught prudence to honour/ you Sir/ affectionate St/ smiled and related striking of people


Christopher Kondrich, Two Poems
To collapse means to crumble but also to compress/ remnants into the remembrance of a whole/ body, this person was.


Richard Weaver, Two Poems
Blue eagle has learned/ to look past/ emerging green light/ and the north wind’s rancor.


Diana M. Chien, Four Poems
I was blind as a stone/ Blunt as a stone/ I lay there—/ useful/ as a nub of a thumb


New to Audio Vault: Andrew Durbin reads “You Are My Ducati,” Paul La Farge reads his story in Conjunctions:53, Not Even Past: Hybrid Histories, and Edie Meidav reads her story in Conjunctions:65, Sleights of Hand: The Deception Issue.


Rebecca Liu, Two Poems
Through the palace where mirrors/ Refract through water/ What desire I know


Graham Foust, Love Song
Let’s go then, you and me … 3 …/ —this gauze collecting blood, the midday heat/ still in the concrete


Darin Ciccotelli, Three Poems
Our lives no longer feel/ attared. The grand pronouncements/ feel fine


Bradley Bazzle, The Beard of Human Weakness
According to the routine for 26 Seagoville, I’m supposed to cut over to the best preserved house before we get to the scummy creek that runs behind the parcel, though I’m not, under any circumstances, supposed to show the client inside the house, since one time a vagrant squatter popped out of an en suite bathroom brandishing a rusty chef’s knife.


New to Audio Vault: Porochista Khakpour, Gwyneth Merner, and Laura van den Berg read from their work in Conjunctions:65, Sleights of Hand: The Deception Issue.


New to Audio Vault: Brian Evenson reads from The Open Curtain, “Born Stillborn,” and “Invisible Box.”


Helen Macdonald, Three Poems
I had an idea of this, is stacked with song/ & cool blood, bruised with salad herbs & oil


New to Audio Vault: Joyce Carol Oates reads from Walking Wounded, her story in Conjunctions:65, Sleights of Hand: The Deception Issue.


Gabriela Torres Olivares, Doméstica, translated by Teresa Carmody
They come with the bearing of a retrovirus. Their bodies synchronize in certainty. An idea bustling between their eyebrows and taming their strangeness, bundling gesture between their eyes.


Thibault Raoult, From Spring of the Floor Tom
There were all these tricks/ We used to navigate// The night sky including/ Having it out midsentence// With midcentury sax


David Hansen, Pendragon
While my mother was between men, she took me to an open house. She did things like this. We followed the realtor through the rooms for a while before my mother sent me off. “Little girl,” pleaded the realtor, but I no longer answered to that call.


Gary Garvin, Autumn Rhythm
It’s the image that often returns and holds me, of standing next to my brother at the Metropolitan before the Pollock, Autumn Rhythm, seventeen feet of swirling black lines and streaks of white, black and white blotches, slaps of muted colors, all on unprimed canvas, the canvas itself browning with age, as if expounding the painting’s mortality, the memory, like the Pollock, a forceful dispersion where nothing settles.


Michael Schoch, Bonebreaker
People in my field had to know the whens and hows of doing a bad thing. Good judgment was hard to exercise; it was hard sometimes to hobble a man with a ball peen hammer and call that good.


Tom Haviv, A Flag of No Nation: Primer for Potential Symbolism
From a window, any opening,     limit or/ edge


George Kalamaras, Two Pieces
The hound dog universe deceives the deception of sound—cleansing it, that is, into what we might call “the great ear of poetry.”


Angela Woodward, New Technologies of Reading
Hard to say if the reading process is at all improved by this, but the figurines exude a degree of charm. These are produced not on a flat substrate but in three dimensions in successive layers: The ink is substrate and substance in one.


Jessica Reed, Atomos, World Composed: A Canonical Dialogue with Lucretius
Two thousand years ago, the Roman poet Lucretius wrote the first poem about atoms. He described in De Rerum Natura a universe of invisible, indivisible particles which composed our world, long before there was experimental evidence that atoms were real.


Edie Meidav, Blind in Granada, or, Romance
She was a bohemian girl with lots of life to live fast.


Paul Hoover, The Likenesses
a match is like a shard / the shard is like a sword// a sword is like a word/ the house of water folds


Aurelie Sheehan, From Once into the Night
I had been filled with ennui all week, it was drenching, and all I could do was walk around, taking furtive looks at things, being alone with myself and my ennui.


Arielle Greenberg, Seven Pieces on Deception, the Whore, and Anderson, IN
At the beginning, I told myself that I could have sex with the X even though he was cheating on Anderson, IN, because he had already been cheating on Anderson, IN, for six years: first, briefly, with a woman in his office, then, for the next five years and through the time that he and I first got in touch with one another, with a woman he met online, the same way he first met me in 1996, and the same way he’d met Anderson, IN, in 1997, and the same way he met me again in 2011.


Byron Landry, Alicja, Love, Ligature
The entwined history of typography, love, and madness is well-documented.


D. E. Steward, Woolley’s Pool
Sheer Kalk Bay Mountain, Kalkbaii’s fringe of steep-stepped houses, Main Road, the train, the tidal rocks


Sean Negus, Five Poems
In the green night there slips/ A lamp in the window/ Where burns times’ coordinates.


Craig Eklund, Tumbling After
He said, “They say the truth always comes out in the end.”


Lisa Donovan, Our Book of Failures
We are in a middle land.


Matthew Cheney, The Last Vanishing Man
I saw The Great Omega perform three or four times, including that final, strange show.


New to Audio Vault: Bradford Morrow, Francine Prose, and Michael Cunningham read in a celebration of the journal's twenty-fifth anniversary at Bard College. Recorded in the Spiegeltent at Bard SummerScape at the Richard B. Fisher Center for the Performing Arts at Bard College, July 23rd, 2015.


Mark Irwin, Four Poems
The bee// was all green except for some late/ pollen on its legs. The bee/ was all green though I could see through the green/ body.


Giovanni De Feo, The Mirror People
The first reported cases date to the period of the initial colonization of the island by the Emerald Empire.


Jessica Jernigan, Supper with Dr. Dee
This is what you contemplate as you travel to Mortlake for supper with Dr. Dee: the Grand Conjunction of Saturn and Jupiter, the second such conjunction since the birth of Christ; and the shift from the watery trigon of Cancer, Scorpio, and Pisces to the trigon of fire: Aries, Leo, and Sagittarius.


New to Audio Vault: Lucy Ives, Michael Ives, and Wil Weitzel read from their work in Conjunctions:64, Natural Causes.


Gillian Conoley, The Right to Be Forgotten
Sun in, out, flirtatious, in tandem/ with whatever Empire wants


New to Audio Vault: Jay Cantor reads from Forgiving the Angel: Four Stories for Franz Kafka.


Andrew Grace, Three Poems
For three days in the early 1800s, the Midwest ceased to exist.


New to Audio Vault: Readings by Conjunctions contributors Greg Hrbek (from Conjunctions:64, Natural Causes), Michael Ives (from Natural Causes), Paul La Farge (from Conjunctions:53, Not Even Past: Hybrid Histories), and Christina Mengert (from work including her 2014 poems in our weekly online magazine), at Poughkeepsie’s Mid-Hudson Heritage Center, April 18, 2015.


Kate Monaghan, Three Poems
Hey the warp/ hey the warp is the graded chunk/ that pulls you deftly


New to Audio Vault: Conjunctions celebrates twenty-five years at Bard College with readings by Bradford Morrow (with Benjamin Hale, from Conjunctions:41, Two Kingdoms), Robert Kelly (from Conjunctions:44, An Anatomy of Roads: The Quest Issue), Ann Lauterbach (from Conjunctions:64, Natural Causes: The Nature Issue), Mary Caponegro (from Conjunctions:48, Faces of Desire), Benjamin Hale (from Conjunctions:64), and Francine Prose (from Conjunctions:53, Not Even Past: Hybrid Histories).


John Parras, Song of Magsaysay
With Alipato imprisoned and the rebels defeated and the nation at peace, Jejo resigned from his post at the AFP Eighteenth and returned to Lingayen, the tolerable port town in northern Luzon where his life had begun, to raise chickens.


Robert Fernandez, Five Poems
I have no camera



Aditi Machado, Four Poems
As within the raucous meditations of high priests you find yourself moving and trepidatious and in the far black moving black trees.


Lily Tuck, The Dead Swan
It’s a cold, windy, early spring day and Sadie is walking by herself along the beach, not looking down or at where she is going so that she nearly trips over it—the dead swan—only she doesn’t right away recognize what it is.


Matthew Pitt, After the Jump
Only when the daughter soothes Seth Snow’s skin does he feel the pressure beneath it.


Miranda Mellis, The Face Says Do Not Kill Me
They slowly rolled along beside it, daughter pushing mother in her chair/ a carving up into the air and down into the rocky soil, staring in one and then the other direction.


Christine Hume, Ventifacts
We name our winds for elsewhere, and ride them like a song forward into an aromatic future.


Ann Lauterbach, After After Nature
The unsaid strafes its enclosure.


Michael Ives, And the Bow Shall Be in the Cloud
routine hub-tones figure in a scatter


Elizabeth Robinson, Three Poems
Here’s your natural cause.


Gabriel Blackwell, The Before Unapprehended
Somehow, though, this seems awfully familiar.


Paul Lisicky, Winston and the Ocean
Winston stayed in the ocean longer than the other children.


Colleen Hollister, Five Museums
Here we have the strangest beginning.


Maxine Chernoff, Three Poems
The lunar sublime,/ whose berries, dispersed/ by winds’ distant ledger,/ tell of the slumber/ of bees


Barbara Tomash, From Pre-
shock of sexual / quake of a ship


Kisha Lewellyn Schlegel, Oil (An erasure of Genesis)
In the beginning, the earth was without form.


Ellen Hinsey, Cahier: On the Principles of the New Logic
The hinges of logic are malleable; man-made. Only simple tools are necessary to pry them apart.


Sébastien Smirou, The Dodo, translated by Andrew Zawacki
When you can’t take nothing on the nose but a beak


New to Audio Vault: Samuel R. Delany, Minna Proctor, Frederic Tuten, and Anne Waldman read from work relating to their contributions to Conjunctions:63, Speaking Volumes


Iris Moulton, The Reattempt
I have found the edge of this place, which is to say I know how to leave: Drive east until the air gets wet and the kids are chigger bit and stained with jam, or past them until you reach the ocean.


New to Audio Vault: Bradford Morrow reads from The Forgers


Patricio Pron, Rhododendron, Tradescantia, Tillandsia, Bromelia, translated by Mara Faye Lethem
When she returns from the room at the back of the store that serves as the flower shop’s storage room, she discovers that someone has left a wallet on the counter.


New to Audio Vault: Steven Millhauser reads from “History of a Disturbance” and “He Takes, She Takes”


G. C. Waldrep, Oysterville Anthem
I am caught between             another firmament


New to Audio Vault: Julia Elliott reads from “Feral,” in Conjunctions:52, Betwixt the Between: Impossible Realism


Max Frisch, Pages from My Knapsack, translated by Linda Frazee Baker
We had just come out of the woods that morning, a gardener’s boy and I, where we had been cutting down young ash trees.


Daniel Grandbois, Five Histories of Western Philosophy
Bertrand Russell finds himself in purgatory, tumbling through literal representations of the worlds of ideas he examined in his classic text, A History of Western Philosophy, gulping much-needed air, for example, from Empedocles’ bucket.


Melody Nixon, You Make Me Opaque
It’s June, and somehow the time of year seems important, though I think of it only this once.


Paul Park, Part II of A Resistance to Theory
She stood outside the lecture hall examining the poster. The image was murky, perhaps a tattooed human face, perhaps a tribal mask.


Paul Park, Part I of A Resistance to Theory
“I’m sorry, ma’am,” said one of the policemen. “But you can’t stay on campus. If you just go down the hill, you’ll find …”


Monica Datta, Tree Encyclopedia by O. G ham
Oliver’s father, before he left, said the old books were scrawled in ink on birch from Kashmir long ago, crumpled to dust.


Erin Kate Ryan, Many Deaths of Paula Jean Welden
On December 1, 1946, Paula Jean Welden put on a bright-red parka, left her dorm for a hike on the Long Trail, and vanished into the thin mountain air of the trailhead.



New to Audio Vault: Bradford Morrow talks about his obsession with book collecting



Ryan Flaherty, Brief, Image, and Etymology: On Reading
To read is to be, for a time, text, but how?



George Prochnik, Packing My Library
Every day when I step out of my home to walk through the streets of my little Brooklyn neighborhood, I come upon boxes of books outside entranceways, on walls, and at the curb between garbage bags.


Adam Weinstein, Briefly Considered: Sub-Plots
Before constructing the garden, the sub-plot is considered.


Emily Anderson, Three Little Novels
Almanzo was eating. He shouted, “Giddap!” a carrot in his hand.


Eliot Weinberger, Fragments from Lost Zoroastrian Books
There where the sun rises/ The edge of a razor


Brian Evenson, The Particulars
In the second volume of David B.’s Incidents in the Night, there’s a shoot-out in a used bookstore.


Aimee Bender, Three Found Books
She found the book in the attic of the house she’d bought with the money from her parents’ will.


New to Audio Vault: Christopher Sorrentino reads “Our Prom Crash” and “FAQ”.


Rachel Cantor, Under the Bridge
I have a follower, a man with eloquent eyebrows, miniature in stature.


Angelo Mao, Five Poems
The knowledge we gathered is no longer useful.


Julian Baird Gewirtz, Three Poems
The boy born under the sign of the swan/ has walked due north along a line of spoonwood.


Caroline Crew, I Am a Burning Girl
Wrapped in the good bleach, the house becomes both border and brine.


New to Audio Vault: H. G. Carrillo, Richard Sieburth, and Marjorie Welish read from their work in Conjunctions:62, Exile.


Alan Gilbert, Four Poems
To the ends of the earth we go/ without ever leaving the mall.


Chantal Clarke, The Termite War
A tiny matryoshka doll glides out of her house and onto a broad palm-tree-lined boulevard that stretches along the edge of a white chalk cliff.


Kate Monaghan, Three Poems
You bestow/ a black jacket with embroidered hem/ red kneepads


Justin Wymer, Two Poems
To the woodland-dwelling currier who fizzes my blood, I leave the myth of/ Daphne, that he might notice the trees’ paralytic lurching.


Sallie Tisdale, The Indigo City
On the walls of the little house where I grew up hung three images.


Peter Mishler, Five Poems
The boy scouts lined up on the freezing banks/ about to recite their summerland cheer.


Lindsey Drager, Toward a General Theory of Distance
When a library is emptied, the books are dispersed so that the gathering stands as simply a stage in their being.


Sarah Wang, Temporal Relocation
Both sexes in the same body. It’s a dream.


Caleb Klaces, Three-Part Invention
Above the pine trees leaning into the wet black bank, a zip moved up and down in the sky, as the treeline moved up and down, controlled by two eyes looking up and looking down through the window.


Sarah Alpert, Underfed, Overgrown
This time last year, I called my doctor to tell her I was dying.


New to Audio Vault: Benjamin Hale and Bennett Sims read from their work.


Arielle Greenberg, Two Poems
I am from a big book with five books in it.


Matthew Gavin Frank, Death by Chocolate
As Harvey stepped closer to the scene, he saw now that the fishermen’s raincoats were uniformly orange—and not yellow—and, as they surrounded the fallen beast like so many scattered searchlights, the smell of it, this close, shifted to something so deeply marine it smelled dark—mineshaft dark; the rotting corpses of countless failed canaries, the ones who got lost in the pitch; and something of burning tires.


New to Audio Vault: Michael Cunningham reads from The Snow Queen.


Christina Mengert, Alphabet on Fire
Signifying garlands     this zealous isle/
with love’s convention     overspread


New to Audio Vault: D. T. Max reads from his biography of David Foster Wallace.


Giovanni De Feo, The Mansion of Dreadful Night
Designed by Fiorenzo Bencivenga in 1914, Il Maniero della Terribile Notte is an Italian board game of which only fifty copies were ever produced.


James Warner, The Unbidden
Exhibit A in my campaign to save the heath—for now by having it declared a Site of Special Scientific Interest—is a slim hardback stolen from a local dealer in rare and unusual books.


Ashley David, Exile, with video translation
Before it begins, we/ take everything that moves.


Donna Stonecipher, Four Poems
They walked around in the foreign city looking for someplace to have dinner


New to Audio Vault: Amy Hempel reads from her work.


Lance Olsen, Dreamlives of Debris
I have my doll and the screamings behind my eyelids.


Edie Meidav, Dog’s Journey
Waves lack surface when you are weak, nothing risen quickly enough to keep you up.


Maxine Chernoff, Five Poems
And then doves and the thrush and the late/ afternoon of the swallows under the bridge


Aleš Šteger, Three Berlin Essays, translated by Brian Henry
When someone’s presence on the street becomes imperceptible as the presence of the street becomes imperceptible in this person.


Daniel Nadler, From The Lacunae
What will you do with these pearls he has given you?


Bruce Lawder, Three Stories
You have been offered a position at the office that violates your principles.


Georges-Olivier Châteaureynaud, The Orchard, translated by Edward Gauvin
Day was waning, wind rippled the muddy puddles. For a long time, they stood shivering on the platform; then they filed past an officer who told each one where to go.


S. P. Tenhoff, The Involuntary Sojourner: A Case Study
While much current research has centered on the challenges faced by international students, business people, and military personnel traveling abroad, relatively little has been written about the plight of involuntary sojourners, more commonly known as “in-between people,” after the name given by Takahashi in his (1996) landmark study of the subject.


John D’Agata, It’s Not Exile If I Like It: Odysseus Debates a Pig
Thank you for the wine, but I am not here to socialize, Circe. I am here looking for my men.


Andrew Touhy, Room and Board
Not a little chilling that you come calling, Mr. Tohwey, tonight, the anniversary of Edgar Allan Poe’s untimely and suspicious death.


Marcella Durand, In This World Previous to Ours
Divided as half of me is small and distant.


New to Audio Vault: Paul Lisicky, Susan Daitch and James Morrow read from work including their contributions to Conjunctions:61, A Menagerie. (Community Bookstore, 12/15/13)


Meredith Stricker, The BE/S
you are the secret/ pinned to a vortex


Mark Dow, Hum [PDF]
Gray metal box in the sideyard rumbled low into the warm soft around it.


Paul West, Diagnosis of a Troop Train
Think of kings. If they cannot impose themselves upon commoners, or just a few folk with almost comparable titles, they sink into an ooze of moldy celery and black bones, where, my dears, they do not belong.


Mauro Javier Cardenas, Three Fragments from The Revolutionaries Try Again
The long hallway where the old and the infirm waited for the apostolic group, Leopoldo thinks, the long hallway like a passageway inside cloisters or convents where the old and the infirm waited for the apostolic group every Saturday from 3:00 to 6:00.


Emma Komlos-Hrobsky, The Great Beyond, the Great Hereafter
The Andromeda galaxy ranks among the brightest Messier objects.


Jenna Krumminga, Topology of a Paranoid Critical Town
The father goes to the daycare to recover his child. Time ceases to move when he enters the room, which has assumed a preposterous shape and size.


Laynie Browne, P R A C T I C E
If you spend a quiet fortress in tears it may be necessary to spurn stillness.


New to Audio Vault: Terese Svoboda reads from her story in Conjunctions:61, A Menagerie, and Chris Hosea and Cathy Park Hong read from work including their poems in our weekly online magazine. (KGB Bar, 10/13/13)


Kevin Phan, Two Poems
Elephant chest deep in the green-/ Gray swamp; sinking elephant// Escaping the charms of light.


Thomas Bernhard, Arguments from a Winter’s Walk, translated by Adam Siegel
It was a terrible fear of others, you should know, that kept me from killing myself …


Charles McLeod, Part II of Rancho Brava
From the man’s flume to either side of his mouth, all the way down to his jawline, the moustache, a bright silver, was two inches thick, the hairs long enough that one couldn’t see the man’s lips—either upper or lower—in the slightest.


Charles McLeod, Part I of Rancho Brava
Under cover of this letter please find initial, selected results from GCD’s first Focus Group in Zone 5 (Southwest) for Product 1822J: Authentic Garden-fresh Salsa.


Vladimir Mayakovsky, Cloud in Trousers, translated by Jonathan Brent and Lyudmila Sholokhova
Your thought,/ dreaming on a softened brain/ like a blown-up lackey on a greasy couch


Sallie Tisdale, Here Be Monsters
Dan, the young divemaster, set us up with weights and tanks for the required checkout dive, running through the park rules as he worked.


Sarah Minor, Handling the Beast
8000 BCE, the black périgord of southwestern France: A cave system is forming.


Rick Moody, Conversion Testimony
It was a routine day, the day of my conversion.


Paul Lisicky, Animal Care and Control
I’d give you a swamp if I could, but I have no swamp to give.


Gregory Howard, Glaciation
And yet on a northern railway line terminating at a certain coastal fishing village where a yearly festival is held in honor of the sea’s glaciation, unexplained derailments had suddenly increased, leading to pronounced injury and, in at least one case, death.


Julia LoFaso, Fugue State
This morning I woke up and it was drizzling hard little needles onto the gray mud of our wasted fields and I thought that today I might finally do it.


Brandon Krieg, Stranded at Alpha
A man does alpha/ exercises on his wolves


Evelyn Hampton, Three Stories
It took Ruth a long time to begin seeing Julian. At first he didn’t have the shape of a man, but of the piles of furniture and clothes she’d see heaped beside the road.


Dong Li, The Orange Tree
In a yellowed family photo there is an orange tree, leaves burned.


Ian Dreiblatt, From Mandelstam Variations
meanwhile across the mimetic subdivide/ lights go green &/ a republic faintly/ discorporates


Steve Barbaro, A Genealogy of Instinct
There were few realms in which he was a novice, that Saro, let alone the sphere of self-fashioning.


Wendy Lotterman, Three Poems
My path is determined by invisible gold coins that rattle at the bottom of a moneybag until their volume becomes a ruby.


Karla Kelsey, Interval
And so found myself to be the not-iris planted in the Mary Garden as in picture her eyes (forget-me-nots) her hair (maidenhair fern) her fingers fluttering as she speaks with her hands (potentilla).


Robert Antoni, Minstrel Passage
Under cover of darkness, and not unlike a pirate heself, Mr. Stollmeyer eventually dared climb the Rosalind’s mainmast.


New to Audio Vault: Karen Russell reads from her work.


Jennifer S. Cheng, From Letters to Mao
Dear Mao, I want to describe for you the feeling of sleep, as described by neuropsychologist Giulio Tononi, who uses words like oscillations and waves, while his patient is noted to gather the phrase the sea moving a boat.


New to Audio Vault: Junot Díaz reads from his work.


James Brubaker, Excerpts from the Glossary for A Practical History of Dr. Horatio Bergen’s Experiments in Time Travel
Absence of Time: For the purposes of this volume, references to an absence of time primarily address a subject’s lack of an internal perception module by which humans experience the passage of time.


New to Audio Vault: Robert Coover talks about William Gaddis.


John Johnson, Three Poems
These are the days everyone talks about: pixilated skies,/ newness reinventing itself like an aura, each of us/ driving away.


New to Audio Vault: Samuel R. Delany talks about William Gaddis.


Kilby Smith-McGregor, Without a Body
(in which—sea monsters—and Ava’s wedding ring is returned to Jacob by a female police officer)


New to Audio Vault: Francine Prose talks about William Gaddis.


Lindsay Hill, From Sea of Hooks
A strikingly lovely young woman was sitting alone at a table in Christopher’s section.


New to Audio Vault: Rick Moody talks about William Gaddis.


Stuart Greenhouse, Two Poems
The cat who wore too many pajamas took a walk around the block, said/ I’d rather be in bed but the walk around the block takes me there.


New to Audio Vault: editor Bradford Morrow talks about William Gaddis.


Can Xue, Venus
Qiu Yiping, a thirteen-year-old middle-school student, was secretly in love with her thirty-five-year-old cousin with the whimsical name Xuwu.


Ann Lauterbach, Three Poems
Mutable stipend/ saturated in the bright room/ with a thin blue rug.


Gabriel Blackwell, (    )
Now alone, knock on Bobby (that most famous of wooden noumena, the not-in-use-just-now dummy of ventriloquist Signor Blitz (famed, as you already know, for the spectacle of his opening routine


Brian Evenson, Torpor
When they slept she had gotten into the habit of resting both her hands on his arm. Now that his arm was gone, what was she to do?


Lucy Ives, Orange Roses
In a kind of fantasy in which I frequently indulge, I discover a way to become so interested in work that I no longer speculate in the negative about the emotional lives of others.


Robert Olen Butler, AWOL
The night my mother died, I was sleepless in a hotel room in Miami.


New to Audio Vault: Otto Penzler and Bradford Morrow discuss mystery and noir.


Karen Lepri, Correspondence sans Violin
dear a.,/ have you found them/ huddled in ash/ their fat leaves like parasols


New to Audio Vault: Charles Bernstein reads from his work, including his poems in Conjunctions:60, In Absentia.


Derek Gromadzki, Cathedra
Murmur sift incomplete and sudden


New to Audio Vault: Valerie Martin reads from “Et In Acadiana Ego”, published in full on Web Conjunctions.


Monica Datta, Architectural Absence
Aedicule: A small shrine nominated, to the Académie Québécoise, in the category of official sacramental profanity.


New to Audio Vault: Jedediah Berry reads from his work, including his “Seven Stories” in Conjunctions:59, Colloquy.


Aaron Gilbreath, What Is and What Could Be: Hank Mobley
When my coworker Robert heard that I was getting into jazz, he brought a CD into work for me.


Brian Blanchfield, Two Onesheets
Br’er was a trouble word in early 1980s North Carolina.


Sejal Shah, Curriculum
The map was printed on a handkerchief.


Margaret Queeney, Four Phantom Limbs
It drags an unlined palm forward, clutching/ a way over ground by paper-smooth fingers.


Jacques Roubaud, Four Sonnets, translated by Michael Reid Busk
With papers, crayons, ink, colors, with/ Signs then words


Paul Hoover, The Windows
This is my entreaty and my first word.


Eric Pankey, Three Poems
Stray frays of virga. In the wood grain: line graph of annual rainfall.


Jason Labbe, From Maps for Jackie
days of rain project/ ennui in morning


Kim Chinquee, Three Stories
She wears his socks and they pack the dogs and leashes, getting in his Jeep, the dogs in back with their heads out the window.


Shelley Jackson, A Report on Certain Curious Objects, Believed to Be Words in an Unknown Language of the Dead
The headmistress of the Vocational School for Ghost Speakers & Hearing Mouth Children, in addition to turning out youthful amanuenses for the dead, developed a theory of what she called the necrocosmos.


Joanna Ruocco, Third Party
The woman turned to lie on her side in the bed. Her body turned in bed, but she did not turn. She was looking at the ceiling.


Rob Walsh, Five Stories
Women like drinks, so they say.


Maxine Chernoff, Three Poems
There is a world in which the old tumult breathes its conclusions.


Eric Linsker, Three Poems
The divisions are what we will do newly in this world


New to Audio Vault: Yannick Murphy reads from The Call.


Thea Brown, Three Poems
All stories begin with a doorbell


China Miéville, Theses on Monsters
The history of all hitherto-existing societies is the history of monsters.


Emma Smith-Stevens, Guide to a Childhood Diversion
This is a game for two sisters.


Alexandra Kleeman, Hylomorphosis
An angel faces the painting of the famous angel with sword looming above a battle.


Rebecca Lilly, Shadow Boxes
Day’s   whole transparency/a relief   the fine turning


Robert Coover, The Reader
Without a reader of his own, he creates one in a story he calls “The Reader.”


Lucas Southworth, An Introduction to James Gatrell’s Journals and Letters
A few days after James Gatrell turned sixty-five, his colleagues at Emory University threw him a retirement party.


Jedediah Berry, Seven Stories
The kids at my mother’s house are new recruits, and I don’t know their names.


Tomaž Šalamun, Four Poems, translated by the author and Michael Thomas Taren
Discus hit in the golden field./ The tent endures downpours of wine.


Jonathan Lethem, More Little Tales of the Internet
He was a guy who was very much a big deal to see, in a kind of you-don’t-see-him-very-often way, as well as in a then-when-you-do-he’s-on-Skype kind of way.


Adam Fitzgerald, Three Poems
Some peaches were gathered in your name


New to Audio Vault: Peter Gizzi reads from his work, including “Vincent, Homesick for the Land of Pictures”, his poem in Conjunctions:47.


Benjamin Landry, Four Poems
Chocolate wrapped in its foil/ Cadences of tinkers in the street.


New to Audio Vault: Edie Meidav reads from “Dogs of Cuba: The Buddha of the Vedado”, her story in Conjunctions:59, Colloquy.


Jake Syersak, Four Poems
A coo is forming a dove from the open breast of zero


New to Audio Vault: Martine Bellen reads her poems in Conjunctions:58, Riveted and other work.


Katharine Coles, Three Poems
A signal of danger has arrived in consciousness.


New to Audio Vault: Christopher Sorrentino reads from “The Cursed,” in Conjunctions:58, Riveted.


Melissa Barrett, Five Poems
The curtain you noticed trembling, the whole// soft front of it


Joe Aguilar, House of Halls
In the house of halls, there are no rooms, only corridors.


Adam Fagin, Three Poems
If among the waxwing’s flight, I describe unbroken light, I describe water among the sleep of birds.


New to Audio Vault: Melissa Pritchard reads Ecorché: Flayed Man”.


Steve Barbaro, Three Poems
I like/ lakes; I like/ not quite/ evading modern/ places


Andrew Mossin, From Drafts for Shelley
A figure in black at the beginning there is this one


Eric Ellingsen, this missnessing
Hurt, the nickname of my friend, Mariada


Noy Holland, Chupeta
He drove carelessly and the sun passing through the window looked to melt his hair to his head.


New to Audio Vault: James Morrow reads from Galapagos Regained.


Thibault Raoult, From Having and Space
Only so many times you can rotate, opt out of whippoorwill.


Andrew Durbin, From Reveler
It is true my face beheld/ The crestfallen captcha/ That reads the end of the world


Brian Henry, Three Poems
Who among us is alive


New to Audio Vault: Tom McCarthy reads from Remainder and “On Dodgem Jockeys”


Anne Marie Rooney, Three Poems
Can isolation make a person go blind. Go animal.


Emily Anderson, Rabbit Starvation
Bunny was young. He had never even eaten this kind of cracker before.


New to Audio Vault: Rick Moody reads from his story in Conjunctions:57, Kin


Sigrid Nunez, Philosophers
The whole world can be divided into those who write and those who do not write, wrote Kierkegaard. Not that I’ve been reading Kierkegaard.


Stephen O’Connor, I Would Never Do These Things
It seems that this story is actually happening and that I am one of the characters in it.


Ryan Ruby, That Obscure Object of Desire
Time had long since left me in the lurch, stood me up, hung me out to dry.


Martine Bellen, Two Films
And the cat jumped over the Milk Moon, the Spoon Moon, the Sleepy/ Mean Moon.


Gabriel Blackwell, The Last Film of Alan Smithee
After all that, I chose the avatar that looked most like me: similar build, similar features.


Brent Cunningham, The Raincoat
What sort of person was Peter Underwood?


Ngoc Doan, Four Poems
scent that never leaves/ flesh/ is flesh


Brandon Krieg, I, Inc.
I incorporate gneiss and coal and/ long-threaded moss


JoAnna Novak, On Lust
I look in the morning/ having an upward aspect or direction, lamb: honorable, prideful, seeing with attention


New to Audio Vault: Noy Holland reads from her story in Conjunctions:57, Kin


Scott Garson, Six Gymnopédies
We don’t live on the rise of an ancient volcano.


Ian Hatcher, An Ailment That I Will Not Treat
the aurum eye morning decreases


Sylvia Legris, Five Poems
Renounce the vestibule of non-vital vitals.


Matthew Roberson, Years
This house had sheets in the closet, dishes in the cabinets.


New to Audio Vault: Eliot Weinberger reads his translations of Octavio Paz, including the poem first published in English in Conjunctions:57, Kin


Brandon Hobson, Disfigurement
He was worried someone was following him.


Brent Armendinger, Four Poems
After so many years of abbreviated sky, the new bird/ is cast from the bars of its former cage.


Matthew Baker, Sport
Couldn’t have been as odd for anyone as it was for us, when Finland’s blood factories were shuttered.


Marcia Arrieta, Six Poems
nebulous insurgent/ you dream your life/ into invariables


Catherine Imbriglio, Two Poems
The trope of a tree, the trope of the land that looks out at the tree.


Matthew Gagnon, Ten Poems
Stay inside the one enduring thing


New to Audio Vault: Edie Meidav reads from her most recent novel, Lola, California.


Emma Smith-Stevens, Greyhounds
When James bites his nails.


Karen Lepri, From Electric Light Parade
STATISTICS. Age: 3 years. Season: Summer. Neck: Supple. Sensory Exam: No loss. Eyes: Pronounced.


Marianne Jay, A Good Name for an Animal
I love a thief. No particular thief. I love a thief in general.


Jessica Hollander, In These Times the Home Is a Tired Place
Only one dream the mother remembered: driving, dead bodies on the road, the word PAPER large and black on a billboard.


New to Audio Vault: Video and audio recordings of Joyce Carol Oates speaking on inspiration and obsession at Bard College, October 3, 2011


Kerry Banazek, Ten Poems
Get in at the who’s-to-tells.



Gillian Conoley, Begins
begins with sound of bell


Sean Casey, The Agnostic Grappler’s Itinerary
An entirely unfamiliar older gentleman drove me across a bare countryside.


Luke Andrew Geddes, Another Girl, Another Planet
Sex in outer space is not that different.


Elizabeth Robinson, The Hinge Trees
Here is where you were.


Peter Orner, Shhhhhh, Arthur’s Studying
Arthur was a quiet boy who grew into a quiet man.


Sarah Blackman, Mother Box
The people she knew, she had met under difficult circumstances.


A D Jameson, You’ll Be Sorry
One of these days—and it might be a day very soon—and it won’t be a day that you can identify in advance—and my behavior on that day will not contain clues that you can scrutinize as warnings—I will become angry.


Sarah Gridley, Five Poems
One helped undo the rippled look of things beyond the pane.


Emily Carr, Nine Poems
Hollereyed the moon tries on gas station, soda machine, locked/ toilet, linedried bedsheets, a caterpillar fording yard dirt.


Jeremy Adam Smith, The Father and the Father
We turned and we turned and as we turned my father became one of the void-eyed horses that never stopped galloping.


Anthony Caleshu, From The Victor Poems
So long without women, we’re thinking of women.


Sam Allingham, One Hundred Characters
Your brother, the first boy you ever kissed. Your sister, the first person your brother ever kissed. Your mother, who has never kissed anyone, to your knowledge, since the age of thirty-seven.


Diana Wagman, The French Knew How to Wave
“I want a cigarette.” You must say this with a French accent.


New to Audio Vault: Benjamin Hale reads from his story in Conjunctions:56, Terra Incognita


New to Audio Vault: Tim Horvath reads his story in Conjunctions:56, Terra Incognita


New to Audio Vault: Peter Straub reads from his story in Conjunctions:56, Terra Incognita


Susan Steinberg, Spectacle
Once it was underwater I thought of.


Gabriel Blackwell, The I and the It
Under more agreeable circumstances … Dr. Miles Bennell, a physician for thirteen years, would have welcomed the sudden relaxation, the opportunity to indulge a newfound frivolity.


Julia Elliott, Regeneration at Mukti
Call me a trendmonger, but I’ve sprung for a tree house.


Kyra Simone, Seven Stories from the Palace of Rubble
He hopes to fly a giant helium balloon a record twenty-five miles into the earth’s atmosphere and parachute down.


Charles Bernstein, Recalculating
You can’t be part of the problem if you don’t see how you’re part of the solution.


Ryan Call, The Artificial Stork
So began my life with the children of wreckage, a troupe of stranded children who traveled The Beneath, a collection of sole survivors, those precious babes who had by some miracle lived through the most terrifying of crashes.


Kathryn Davis, Descent of the Aquanauts
Everybody thinks it’s going to be different for them, Janice said.


Steven Toussaint, Five Poems
ore poured/ through ode


Valerie Martin, Part II of Et In Acadiana Ego
In the spring Mathilde received a card from Monsieur Delery, her favorite importer, who kept a shop on Rue Royale.


Valerie Martin, Part I of Et In Acadiana Ego
When Father Desmond excommunicated Mathilde Benoit, denying her the benefit of the sacraments, he wrote an account of his complaint against her.


Camille Guthrie, Two Poems
It makes a difference whether he is rosy-fingered/ or trigger-fingered.


Michael Pearce, The Commander Is Oppressed by His Tongues
The commander visits his collection every day now.


Gerard Malanga, Three Poems
He certainly wasn’t thinking “the emancipation of dissonance,”/ as Schöenberg put it, slouched as he was, rumpled tie and all


John Domini, Players, Tawkers, Spawts
Listen, I’m not saying you don’t have a movie. Two girls and a guy and the Mars Rover, that’s a movie.


Joan Harvey, Last Year at Schlangenbad
These trips that begin on airplanes and end on airplanes.


Chris Hosea, From The Kaleidoscopic Almanac and Seed Catalogue, with Notes
Born to be. Under amplified sermons cliffs erode. All this they wrote out and folded before leaving.


Lindsay Turner, Two Poems
Woke from not sleeping going through the words


Kianoosh Hashemzadeh, Interview with Damon Galgut
Memoir, as it happens, is a very popular form in South Africa right now, especially because there’s this sense of unspoken history that’s being reclaimed at the moment.


Osama Alomar, Eleven Stories
The candle was astounded to see the widow as she wept for her recently deceased husband.


Malinda Markham, Four Poems
Bones wired for strength we are less gullible than a feast but more sturdy.


Ian Goodale, Crickets
Her hands began to run limping crickets over the wounds of the body before her


Brian Conn, Leisure
We are in a haunted house. Our first game is played with dice.


Kim Chinquee, Three Stories
After weeks away, and days on the road, I scan my studio apartment.


Kyle Winkler, Bite
Emily bit her baby. It started with the toes and the feet. The little pink baby feet.


G. C. Waldrep, News of the Fall of Troy
(what is important is that history be/ silent     (for a moment


Andrea Scott, Two Poems
Tree of the ampler frame./ Sky broken snow./ The arc falling./ Bone flutes. Filling up.


Brooks Sterritt, Cultivation
The process begins with a five-gallon bucket, preferably blue.


Matthew Gagnon, Four Poems
But it is nothing/ that stands against the welter of impact


Edward Helfers, North Mozia
North Mozia (Sicilian: Mozzia, from Mothya) is a small volcanic island straddling the Mediterranean and Tyrrhenian seas, situated just outside the Italian comune of Marsala, and is generally included as part of the Trapani Islands.


Daniel Borzutzky, The Flesh-Murmurers
The trees went away and the poles went away and the stop signs went away and the birds went away


Maya Sonenberg, Princess of Desire
I was merely his customer: that’s what she said.


New to Audio Vault: Paul La Farge, John Madera, Stephen O’Connor, and Karen Russell read from their stories in Conjunctions:55, Urban Arias


Rosmarie Waldrop, Third Person Singular
I says the speaker, the subject.


Laura Valeri, Logorrhea
The obstetrician was the first to notice.


Elizabeth Robinson, Book Three: Romance
All life sets itself upon us like a dull, iron-colored grief,/ and the discipline is/ to realize that we haven’t died/ yet.


Emma Smith-Stevens, Switch
Jan can hear Mike’s neighbors listening to Billy Joel. Before he started beating her with twelve inches of thick rubber piping, he’d said, “Forgive me, they do this every Friday. They listen to Billy Joel and Bon Jovi, the ladies who live across the way.”


Elissa Field, Still Life with Nixon on the Beach
The boat came close to the shore, its sails silent, but we could hear the hissing of water against its fiberglass hull. I told Nixon I want to be away from here.


Ryan Call, Our Latitude, Our Longitude
The story of how I came to drift so aimlessly, my airship pendulant and high above this wrung-out earth, begins long ago, during that period of uneasy calm before the weather turned so foul.


Jennifer Chang, Habit
O. is really suffering


Lyn Hejinian, City Under Sun
Despite confusing display, unyielding surfaces, the city is not/ inhospitable to a competent culinary shopper, an expert at/ gathering groceries. She is impervious to ploys, indifferent to/ novelty. There is no longer anything new, nothing new happens/ anymore.


Brian Evenson, The Oxygen Protocol
Later he woke up, not entirely sure at first what had happened, what had been real and what he had dreamed. For a moment the utburd was still there, its bloody, childish face glowing faintly in the dim light and then vanishing.


Tim Horvath, The City in the Light of Moths
The projectionist’s heart broke as the spool of the film he was screening snapped, sending a thousand frames rocketing through the room.



Barney Rosset, Tin Pan Alley Chicago Style
It must have been about 1948. The shabby streets had the murkiness which went with greasy half-wet black tar and glistening drops of oil, water drooled off the battered canopy of the bar, which sort of protected the entrance to this decaying enterprise and protruded its tired face into the deathly quiet deserted Rush Street of Chicago.


Susan McCarty, City/Body: Fragments
In New York, there is an important distinction to make between where you live and where you sleep. You sleep in your apartment. You live in the city.


Peter Orner, Lincoln
That year we lived on Holbrege in a small one-story house with a patch of dirt in the back Sheila always talked about making a garden out of.


Etgar Keret, Two Stories, translated by Sondra Silverston and Miriam Shlesinger
When the crash came, NiceDay was the first to go.


Matt Bell, For You We Are Holding
We are waiting on the streets in front of and beside the office. The number of us can be many but rarely is. The number can be none but it is never that. Whatever the number, that is who we are.


Andrew Mossin, The Crossing
The loneliness was verbal, started in the/ act of seeing the world before us, finding out what we needed to know.


Louis Cancelmi, Two Stories
They were the first, in fact, to make up stories. Others before them had told tales, of course, had lied, had imagined things, but these were the first to rely strictly on language, its symbols, its logic, its effects.


Daniel Coudriet, Three Poems
Dozens of beds burrowing in the yard.


Thomas Gough, The Wentworth Hotel and Ballroom
Why is it that when I cross the final street before the Wentworth Hotel my eye is drawn to the weave of electric bus lines bolted with cables to the stuccoed buttresses of the retaining walls, to the concrete-based streetlamps where I have never failed, and do not fail tonight, to see the house painters in their white uniforms?


New to Audio Vault: William Kennedy reads from Ironweed for Bard College’s Innovative Contemporary Fiction Reading Series, curated by Conjunctions editor Bradford Morrow


Kerry Banazek, Five Poems
the opening. that joinery is alarming. ulna, radius, elbow, humerus, shoulder joint that brings sight to the edge of this and other half-born worlds.


CJ Evans, Three Poems
I hear liquor and lather/ and wood. I press my ear// to the bottom, and I hear/ the steel, the concrete,// the inked earth below.


Carlos Pardo, Five Poems, translated by Elizabeth Zuba
And everything has a presexual air.


New to Audio Vault: Martine Bellen reads Rae Armantrout, Micaela Morrissette reads Julia Elliott, and Frederic Tuten reads Tuten for a special event celebrating Conjunctions:54, Shadow Selves


Mg Roberts, From No T(h)ere
I want to define the perimeter of this body.


Maxine Chernoff, Five Poems
O inside the O/ breadth of the mountain


Julie Carr, From Think Tank
In the soft folds of derivation,/ the spheres ring out, but muffled./ That music, that music of affluence turned fluid./ A man/ walks into/ his daughter.


Sarah Mangold, Three Poems
She recalled the general pleasantness of the atmospheres during those last moments before she became for them a kind of monster


Nancy Kuhl, Three Poems
tiny bell rant coincident near curve/ wet sunlight negotiating sill and/ chipped-paint ceiling a lesson by hint


Rebecca Lindenberg, From Love, an Index
F:/ Fate, about which Breton and Eluard asked in an issue of Minotaur:/ What was the most significant moment/ of your life, and did you recognize it at the time?


Steven Harvey, The Broken Cup
Talking about Trotsky who appeared as a character in a book you are reading, you set an empty wine glass on a thick tile coaster.


Eric Higgins, Three Poems
Today, in passing, I grew sick of the world/ of author’s ideas. I crossed a street/ and arrived into rubble.


Angélica Tornero, Six Poems, translated by Krista Ingebretson
They burn a twist, between my eyes, and the intermediate hierarchy of an image this/ afternoon: cempasúchil, copal—in the upper part of the low bookcase—libation, oblation.


Quintan Ana Wikswo, The Delicate Architecture of Our Galaxy
My mother lived in a mason jar. Twice daily, I took the lid off. She said it was to allow her to breathe, but she only seemed to dive deeper.


Tom Cotsonas, René Renée
The story is about a woman who is dreaming she is dreaming, and who in the dream’s dream wakes herself up because she knows she is frightened of dreaming.


Kyle Winkler, Teratology
Teratology, the study of human monsters, is a young science, one that is desperate for respect, or, at least, attention.


Julia Holmes, From Meeks
The world was once pure: animals tilted their perfectly formed heads to listen to the workings of the great clock, the sky-blue waters churning over the sunlit rocks. All was well. Then a twig snapped. Something was coming. It was I. I was traveling in my characteristic way: lumbering, unstoppable, crashing through the fragile woods.


Brandon Kreitler, Three Poems
It might begin with lips enclosing speech./ Not movement, but the possibility of movement withheld./ He evokes the direction of circus animals and it doesn’t take./ Nor is there gesture for the kissed-off color of the sky,/ A way to say/ The knife glints in the crosshairs of stars/ Like a plot point.


Christopher Hellwig, From An Archive of the Lives of Retired Gunslingers
Oxskin Murphy was born to a poor Oklahoma cattlehand and his wife, and was so legally named Oxskin by his father, his mother having died during childbirth. In a squalid cottage on the fringe of the large ranch on which he worked, Mr. Murphy intended to rear his son as a gunslinger, and, indeed, Oxskin’s first revolver and holster were given to him on his sixth birthday.


Amish Trivedi, The Screaming Trees
I became the self immolation/ I imagined in my dreams.


Miranda Mellis, Misapprehensions: A Mobile in Ten Parts
The original “stuffed animal” referred to an animal post taxidermy, killed, skinned, stuffed with cotton and rags and sewn back up in a wooden frame, a phantasm with a pair of glass eyes.


Rae Armantrout, Six Poems
You confuse/ the image of a fungus// with the image of a dick/ in my poem


Michael Coffey, Sunlight
It was a terrible Saturday, the kind of Saturday you have after a Friday night spent explaining to your third wife why you had a hooker in your house and how the condom wrapper she spotted under the couch was not, after all, necessary.


Susan Steinberg, Cowgirl
; it was virtual, the killing; it was conference call, the killing; it was party line, a party; it was everyone talking at once; it was everyone talking and me in charge; it was nearing morning, almost light; it was the doctor begging me, come on already; it was the doctor begging me, do it already; it was me saying, you do it already;


H. M. Patterson, Sailing by Night
Perhaps it was some childhood backmind cinema of the snowpackthat had been melting from the top of Roan Mountain that springlike winter—two whole fainéant feet of it lollygagging its way down to the Doe River like a little girl picking mountain flowers—that caused me to dream my dream so deep


Jonathan Carroll, Elizabeth Thug
She walked into the place and without saying a word, handed the man the wrinkled yellow slip of paper she had worked and fussed over for hours the night before. There were only two words written on it in careful block letters.


Sara Veglahn, From The Mayflies
A package tied with twine is thrown off the bridge. A leather satchel full of letters is flung into the river. Shirts, sweaters, hats, gloves are tossed off in fits of joy and fall to the river to be taken away by the current.


Jack Christian, Four Poems
And were you cold last night/ And in dreams somewhat amphibian.



Gabriel Blackwell, Untitled (Sid Vicious, New York, 1978)
The eye is first drawn to that illusion of movement in the right foreground: a checkered taxicab with its rear curb-side door hanging open and a young Sid Vicious entering or exiting the cab, his motion-blurred face visible over the flat plane of the cab’s roof, and the cab, too, ghostly, slightly blurred as though moving off, up Twenty-third Street, away from the Hudson.


Sarah Blackman, A Terrible Thing
No one would have disputed it was a terrible thing. It was a terrible thing. A thing that had happened, that frequently happened to very many people they had individually known and some whom they had known together.


Brian Oliu, Zelda Revisited
Unlike before we start not in the middle of a decision, not in the middle of the egg, but in a house that someone has built.


Noah Eli Gordon, From The Source
The story is essentially the same: if you are intent on your climb and would never consider cutting back, then balance the sphere of ordinary understanding not in any mere figure of speech, still bent over the shoes you’re mending, but in actual fact loosened from its anchorage to the body.


María Negroni, Five Poems from Mouth of Hell, translated by Michelle Gil-Montero
Strange impatience of horses. Jumbled crossbows, arquebuses. Some luxurious circus or royal company.


Samantha Stiers, The Hollow Leg
Late one night, a father bends over his workbench, removes his daughter’s right femur, and sharpens it into a walking stick.


Erin Gay, Three Poems
When I karate chop the world in half, I need you by my side. Everything has two pieces and you’ve never tasted an orange so ripe. The seeds are not visible but sonic.


Timothy O’Keefe, Four Poems
Everyone had a mother then, a working train set,/ and a nearby promenade to daze among flowers/ whose names were difficult to pronounce.


Miranda Mellis, From Rune to Ruin
I can see the sky so white it’s leached of white and branches of winter trees like rude lace.


Porter Fox, Soldiers
The soldiers marched off the TV screen in two columns. There were thirty of them dressed in desert fatigues. They barely fit into Frank’s living room.


Christopher DeWeese, From Marvels
I was a company town,/ a modest house of debtors/ tucked between the wildflowers


Anne Tardos, Nine
Nine words per line and nine lines per stanza.


Aleš Šteger, Two Stories, translated by Aljaž Kovač and Forrest Gander
Quietly, covertly, bears have toddled into the name Berlin.


Daniel Grandbois, Three Conversation Pieces from Unlucky Lucky People
Despite the soot that tumbles from the sky, our old people look good—the color of milk and veal roast.


Ava Lehrer, Two Poems
Have you ever seen a rock garden?// She was at the head who asked what it meant./ How do these rocks relate to the end of this man, as well as the end of them?/ They don’t, or they didn’t while I stood there for you.


Jason Myers, Three Poems
When sanity grew tiresome, I went walking through the ghetto./ I bought kidneys, watched buildings crumble,/ offered no hand, no kind word.


Adam Scheffler, Four Poems
My robot comes to me in the night afraid of death.


Rebecca Hazelton, Three Poems
Remember me as an/ elephant figurine,/ chipped trunk, one ear,/ or a tailless squirrel/ languishing in dust.


Marguerite W. Sullivan, Two Stories
She hired a man to build a gazebo for her. The yard was green and grassy as any, but in an absent moment called out for a structure beyond its billowing color.


Richard Froude, From Fabric
At Bristol Zoo in the mid 1990s I watched an LED display of the world’s increasing population. The figure was juxtaposed with the decreasing acreage of rainforest. What I mean is, I am interested in sequence.


Matthew Kirkpatrick, Light Without
Two nearly identical babies born at the same time on a hot August night. An orderly at the end of a twelve-hour shift, angry and confused by unfair events earlier that day, switches the identities of the children before heading home to a tall Pabst and stale corn chips and a sleeping lover curled on the couch glowing gray from a snowy television. He finishes his drink and leaves his lover in the light. Beneath the glass a trapped star sizzles against the screen.


Martha Schwendener, The Pond
That’s pretty, she thinks as the hood of the car tips into the pond and the windshield is covered with green algae and lily pads and little white things that look like flower petals.


Sarah Riggs, From Underground Sonnets
Tell us, lines, what we should say. Let the hand-/ writing govern our movements.


Robert Kelly, The Will of Achilles
But under the rain/ a different thing. Vine leaves/ Achilles sees, inconsequent/ myrtles. There is no end/ to weather. The gods are done with him.


Matt Bell, His Last Great Gift
Spear has already been living in the cabin overlooking High Rock for two weeks when the Electricizers speak of the New Motor for the first time.


Ann Lauterbach, Two Poems
Where next? Oblique cost of the not yet.


Paul LaFarge, The History of the History of Death
Around 490 BCE, Hermodorus, an Ephesian, undertook to refute Heraclitus’s claim that “everything changes and nothing remains still” by writing a History of Death, in which “only those things that have ceased to change” would be recorded.


Francine Prose, A Simple Question
As soon as Vogel realized he could end the interrogation simply by staring unblinkingly back into the light, he awoke with the full moon shining in his eyes.


Elizabeth Robinson, Modernist Poems
I prefer you skeptics to the credulous ones. You/ have a more fulfilled sense of silence. Those who/ claim that my chamber was equipped with trap/ doors amuse, even excite/ me. That’s your mode of gift, is it/ not? Gossip?


Jett McAlister, Three Poems
(Not the light that tethers towards) (a melting/ fortunate, thanks due)


Elizabeth Logan Harris, Engine Blanket
Dill brung Rita a whole lot of long flowers after he run his car up in her yard and smashed Julie’s trike. The box them flowers come in was near about the size of a kiddie coffin.


Bernard Noël, Three Poems from The Rest of the Voyage, translated by Eléna Rivera
air steams borders leafless branches a low sky/ makes eyes believe that finally they see matter/ what is the space between these open fingers


Kristin Aardsma, Three Poems
Their knees knock the shudder of bone while their hands/ fist their dresses into peonies.


Trent England, Nervous Recollection
I was old enough to remember the last tumor in our town. It inhabited a girl my age who shared a last name close to mine, sitting in classes near me.


Pedro Ponce, The Well at Founders Grove
Many critics, seeking a precedent for the work of novelist Clarence Winthrop, cite the fictional topographies of Anderson’s Winesburg or Faulkner’s Yoknapatawpha.


Elmo Lum, No One Can Name the General
It’s winter: the season of hunching, the season of sleeves and long jackets, of hands in pockets, of woolen caps, flipped-up collars, and darkened streets.


New to Audio Vault: Jayne Anne Phillips reads from “Leavitt’s Dream” from Conjunctions:51, The Death Issue.


Greg Pierce, Trophies We Don’t Deserve
Here’s my best friend Davis’s stupid idea: mix up a bloodlike substance, pour it all over my face, knock on some old guy’s door, tell him we’ve been in a car accident, come in, rob him.


Anthony Schneider, Low Season
It is the low season and the pool is not crowded. A fiftyish German couple occupies the area nearest the beach path, buttressed by open bags and facedown magazines. A darkly tanned woman pulls a ululating child across the shallow end.


Sylvia Legris, Six Poems
Syringes crescendo incrementally. Segmental sound drift. Rostrum-gist shifts from leading edge to trailing. Feathers shed antithetically (molto molting melodeon).


New to Audio Vault: Karen Russell reads from “Children’s Reminiscences of the Westward Migration,” from Conjunctions:45, Secret Lives of Children.


Jesse Dorris, From Just Looking
Freddy caught his reflection in the window of Sophistication—he looked good. His hair had followed orders this morning, succumbing to the blow and comb. He’d ratted it up and over one eye to balance the big white shirt flowing over his tight pants, the studded belt and boots. Tough and put together—no one in Lynch looked like him.


Susan Steinberg, Universe
One does not start with mourning doves. One cannot start with doves surrounding the bedroom. One starts with the trip to Sausalito, the quick ride over the bridge, the city shrinking in the sideview.


B. Kite, Two Stories
Dr. Sperber sat in the corner, rhythmically clicking his gums.


New to Audio Vault: Carole Maso reads from “Mother and Child,” from Conjunctions:50.


Kim Chinquee, Three Stories
Outside, skeletons were knocking.


Mario Andrea Rigoni, Too Late, translated by Gregory Dowling
There was a lively and cheerful hubbub on the quay, as we waited for the gangplanks to be lowered and the embarkation procedures to begin. The ship, painted all in white, flaunted its high, elegant flank with a double row of sky-blue stripes on its stern—like upturned circumflex accents—and its name on the prow, Eucalyptus—written in golden characters—already stirring dreams of Greek landscapes.


Priscilla Long, Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Fur-Covered Teacup
Wallace Stevens, American poet. Born October 2, 1879, in Reading, Pennsylvania. Composed the quintessential Modernist poem, “Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird,” published 1917. Meret Oppenheim, Swiss artist. Born October 6, 1913, in Berlin. Created the quintessential Surrealist object, Breakfast in Fur, exhibited 1936.


New to Audio Vault: Peter Straub reads from Lost Boy Lost Girl.


Allison Carter, Four Poems
Alaska turned 10 on a/ summer storm day.// She set out breakfast/ on a rickety table by/ the summer sea// Alaska loves breakfast best.


Bin Ramke, Twelve Symmetries
I walked up all your stars, stairs to wake you, walk you home but you were not there where the taking, talking, was taking place, taking the place of, the pace of a love affair, afar, a fair love and languor, language will do that; Rise, balloon.


Michele Fialer, The Table
When I met him he evinced many qualities which I admired, or enjoyed, and a few qualities which scared me, or which I did not understand, or which I found annoying.


New to Audio Vault: Peter Carey reads from The True History of the Kelly Gang.


Cristiana Baik, Three Poems
Good night air glows/ under the quantum/ quiet fury


Stefani Nellen, Tentacle Mind Report
We are here, our tentacles coiled in the pond of Martina’s soul, the one untouched by the storm. We see everything. We saw everything. We float here in the cold until her lantern fish mind returns and chases us deeper into the dark. In slow, thudding heartbeats, we pass judgment.


Scott Henkle, Messina (II): Beckmann
On the 28th of December 1908, an early morning earthquake felled the port city of Messina, in northeastern Sicily. After it came a huge wave and then, when the water had receded or settled into lagoons, fire.


Mary Morris, On the Brink
I’m standing in the jungle, ankle-deep in mud. It’s dark and hot and the heat seeps through my camouflage gear. My boots, my flak jacket and holster, everything is wet.


New to Audio Vault: David Shields reads from Remote.


Eric Linsker, Two Poems
Our failure in the waves/ What is left of wind scuffling through wind


Adam McOmber, Egyptomania
The poet’s study was cluttered with his wife’s Egyptian marvels—the plaster head of Isis, a letter opener shaped like the claw of the cat god, Bast, even a shard from an actual canoptic jar that he was to use as a paperweight.


Yang Zi, Five Poems, translated by Ye Chun and Melissa Tuckey
That night on my way home,/ a strange team appeared in front of me.


New to Audio Vault: Joanna Scott reads from her contribution to Conjunctions:46, Selected Subversions.


New to Audio Vault: Brian Evenson reads from his contribution to Conjunctions:48, Faces of Desire.


Matt Bell, An Index of How Our Family Was Killed
A brother, a father, a mother, a sister.


Mauricio Kagel on Borges and Gombrowicz, Selections from Interviews by Werner Klüppelholz, translated by William Bamberger
Composer Mauricio Kagel was born in Buenos Aires in 1931. While studying to be a composer Kagel was also very involved with world literature and with writers in Argentina: here he tells of studying under Jorge Luis Borges and of playing chess with Witold Gombrowicz.


Joanna Ruocco, From A Compendium of Domestic Incidents
For her 16th birthday, he gave her a wax statue of Desiderius Erasmus.


New to Audio Vault: Jonathan Lethem reads his tribute to William Gaddis from Conjunctions:41, Two Kingdoms.


New to Audio Vault: Steve Erickson reads from his work.


Margot Singer, Ghost Variations
We woke at the same moment, our hearts twanging in our chests.


New Year’s Poetry Festival: Winter 2009
Cathy Park Hong, Adventures in Shangdu
The contractors were in such a hurry to catch up with the rest of the world that they rushed off before they finished building Highrise 88.


New Year’s Poetry Festival: Winter 2009
D. E. Steward, Augustino
Merely three stops out Kiev’s Green Line Metro\ To Dorohozhycli\ And Babi Yar


New Year’s Poetry Festival: Winter 2009
Forrest Gander, Two Poems
What words go with crossing? Orange and security and ventriloquist. This is a special message.


New Year’s Poetry Festival: Winter 2009
Martine Bellen, Breathing Room
Instruments of music and surgery,\ Statues of birds and kings


New Year’s Poetry Festival: Winter 2009
Donald Revell, Last Man
The hawthorn is God’s hat\ And patterns in the marble\ Swarm like bees


New Year’s Poetry Festival: Winter 2009
Elizabeth Willis, Take This Poem
Take this spoon\ from me, this\ cudgel, this axe.


New Year’s Poetry Festival: Winter 2009
Rae Armantrout, Bubble Wrap
“Want to turn on CNN,/ see if there’ve been any/ disasters?”


New Year’s Poetry Festival: Winter 2009
Elizabeth Willis, Three Poems
Dark rosette in the lung’s/ pewter lace, early autumn chill


New Year’s Poetry Festival: Winter 2009
Robert Kelly, Three Poems
They are blowing the leaves away


New Year’s Poetry Festival: Winter 2009
Elizabeth Robinson, The Picture of the Spirit
Clarify now that “you,” “she,” “I” do not know to stand except at an interchange.


New Year’s Poetry Festival: Winter 2009
Catherine Imbriglio, Two Poems
I withhold these truths, in formula, from you …


New Year’s Poetry Festival: Winter 2009
Ellen Wehle, Three Poems
Lanterns follow the footpath/ Briefly then dwindle.


New Year’s Poetry Festival: Winter 2009
Matt Reeck, When the Mimes Left for Paris
road:                  fissure opening lengthwise


New Year’s Poetry Festival: Winter 2009
Ange Mlinko, Five Poems
Babyclothes made of camo—/ There should be a Lysistrata in the forsythia.


New Year’s Poetry Festival: Winter 2009
Andrew Mossin, Two Poems
Lair and line./ Canopy and carapace.


New Year’s Poetry Festival: Winter 2009
Daneen Wardrop, Emily Dickinson Undressing
In Amherst they’ve just emptied the hundred trunks/ found next door in the attic of her brother and sister-in-law,/ trunks of clothing not catalogued yet,/ and Jane Wald, the Dickinson Homestead director,/ lets me touch them.


Andrew Malan Milward, Disappear
In the months before the lake disappeared, I began having lunch every day with my high school guidance counselor.


New to Audio Vault: Robert Coover reads an excerpt from Stepmother


New to Audio Vault: Mayra Montero reads an excerpt from Captain of the Sleepers


Nora Khan, Black
When I was little, just a boy living in Pensacola, I used to chase gopher snakes, and I don’t remember anyone calling them their proper name, indigo snakes, no, they were just gophers, or rainbow wrigglers, or shineys, or oilers, which was my favorite name for them because their skin was truly the deepest jet black you can imagine, and in that ugly, heavy sun the black skin would flint sparks of teal, gold, violet, all the rainbow colors of an oil slick.


Sébastien Smirou, From My Lorenzo 3: The Tournament, translated by Andrew Zawacki
the may of the states’ pax plays i accept all while the love/ of lucrezia belle donati rose’s flesh forges the force at last


Gabriel Blackwell, The Behavior of Pidgeons
There are seven Walter Pidgeons seated in a waiting room measuring twenty-two feet by twenty-two feet.


Michael Parrish Lee, The People Catalogue
She moves over a snowless sidewalk under dead winter night. Cold gasps of dryness at her neck—the front, now the back.


Dan Rosenberg, Three Poems
I came to, feeling broke/ about the head,/ a crown of spoons in my hair.


Rusty Morrison, On My Mother’s Death
I fit an elm, like a lens, in the sightline between myself/ and my mother’s death.


Seth Abramson, Two Poems
Or he attracts the devil he reflects, on all fours


Jeanine Walker, Three Poems
a door slammed the door was a way home and a way out


Rosmarie Waldrop, From All Electrons Are (Not) Alike
A view of the sea is the beginning of the journey. An image of Columbus, starting out from the abyss, enters the left hemisphere.


Anthony Madrid, Four Poems
BETWEEN myself and a lover of Spenser, there is a chasm for which no bridge/ Is long enough or strong enough to withstand the blasting winds.


Joseph Cardinale, May I Not Seem to Have Lived
In the autumn after my wife vanished I enrolled in an undergraduate course in Astronomy.


Hai Zi, Six Poems, translated by Ye Chun
Woman of June gathers water, gathers moonlight.


John High, Five Poems
The two remained anonymous to wind/ & eternal without bells the vacant/ monastery on an edge of sea where


Fani Papageorgiou, Three Poems
In the Bay of Biscay/ Deep into the sea/ Lives Obadiah/ The giant Nautilus.


Michael Agresta, The East
I was talking with a friend about real estate. We’d just finished volleyball practice and we were feeling robust.


Laurence Klavan, Show of Affection
Chopping noises. Then—a scream.


Alexandra Wilder, Two Poems
I do remember the mouth/ as a well-worn nursery rhyme,/ a dusty adding machine.


Richard Deming, Two Poems
Now that there is nothing left, for instance,/ the taste of fear dries the upper lip.


Matthew Gleeson, Part II of The Western Rim
Here I will gracefully withdraw my presence, and leave you with Cortés’s pursuit of the woman in the frogskin smock—


Matthew Gleeson, Part I of The Western Rim
In 1493 in Medellín Hernán Cortés murdered his infant brother, after it was prophesied that the young Ferdinand would grow to be stronger and more clever and able in every way than his older sibling.


John Duvernoy, Three Poems
if you wander away from the picnic the wolves


Ted Mathys, From Breakdown Cover
In all philosophies of consequence a small glass marble is hosted by a vast glass sphere.


Norman Lock, Ideas of Space
I had lived always among the trees; and when, at last, I came out onto the Plain, my head reeled and I was sick.


Melanie Rae Thon, Deer Song
In your father’s house, you and your father and your father’s wife and their children, your sisters, Juliana and Roxie, ate venison steak and mashed potatoes—green beans, sweet carrots—bread torn from the loaf, apples baked with raisins and cinnamon: earth and air, root and animal.


Melissa Pritchard, Croquet
Mother’s Day—our last, ma petite mere, sugared battle-ax, thorny womb, my life’s obsession.


Marin Buschel, Three Mysteries
People had been disappearing.


Terese Svoboda, Pink Pyramid
A pink pyramid rises out of the flat ground, its faux granite facing of pressed shell ablaze with reflected sun.


Elmo Lum, Payment
The truth is no one tells me anything. And the truth is even when they tell me something, sometimes the something they tell me is a lie.


Maureen McHugh, Three Poems
In the middle of that slice there was an eye, a white center,/ the smoothness authentic as the skin of angels


Vincent Katz, Three Poems
Morning lazy sounds


Lucy Corin, Eyes of Dogs
A soldier came walking down the road, raw from encounters with the enemy, high on release, walking down the road with no money.


Tim Horvath, Urban Planning: Case Study the Fifth
It is hard to convey to you, who have never been to Ganzoneer, the comic futility that attends to any attempt to walk firmly there due to the elasticity of her streets, walls, and sidewalks, which send the newcomer flailing and sprawling.


Charles Bernstein, Three Poems
I sa%w yo%r pixture on/ wehb si;t; no.t su%re/ whhc one & w~ant to/ tal^k or mee.t ver~y so.on


Shelley Jackson, King Cow
King Cow is the father of the tiny country we call The Foreground.


Peter Cole, Why Does the World Out There Seem
Why does the natural feel unnatural?


Ben Marcus, On Not Growing Up
How long have you been a child?


Shawn Vestal, Two Stories
Julian visits. He’s the kind of person who will say, over dinner, to your wife, that he believes tattoos are ruining pornography.


Anne Sanow, Souls, Seduction of
Which ones do you hate, Mercy, she asks me.


Nancy Leonard, Two Poems
Anthropologies of dance


James McCorkle, Two Poems
Over shimmered flats, ray and tarpon,/ shimmering all silver/ light, titanium white


Christopher Boucher, Two Stories
Then everything became slippery. Suddenly I couldn’t hold my wife’s hand, couldn’t grasp the chess pieces when we played.


Robert Fernandez, Polyhedron
Intending to begin at the billowing page, the flesh calls back its bulls, the divers arrange themselves, occur as gods (loa) occur: that is pliant, beds of mushrooms (pendentives), intersected by light.


Alexander Vvedensky, Two Episodes from God May Be All Around, translated by Eugene Ostashevsky
VENUS, sitting in her broken-down bedroom and trimming her last nails:


Suzanne Rindell, Three Poems
Yet another idea of the self:/ a multitude of fragments/ temporarily moving as one,/ each dissent a quick death


Julie Phillips Brown, Fantomina: A Fantasia in Verse
A young Lady of distinguished Birth, Beauty, Wit, and Spirit, happened to be in a Box one Night at the Playhouse; where, though there were a great Number of celebrated Toasts, she perceived several Gentlemen extremely pleased themselves with entertaining a Woman who sat in a Corner of the Pit, and, by her Air and Manner of receiving them, might easily be known to be one of those who come there for no other Purpose, than to create Acquaintance with as many as seem desirous of it.


D. E. Steward, Oktombro
Perspective as in great mountains where we’re less than ants in the dunes


Martha Ronk, Five Objects
You enter the room in which each item has been carefully placed, not perfectly or according to any specific aesthetic rules, but by whim, one’s idiosyncratic sense that a certain item belongs here or exactly there, next to the other.


John Holliday, The Assembly
There came a point when I had firmly instituted myself in The Assembly, had inserted myself in The Society, had rightly secured my position in The Outfit whose subject matter and topical goings-on are totally irrelevant and extraneous to the material being processed here,


Lucas Southworth, Same Life / Different One
There is a man and there is a woman. There is a house with high ceilings, painted white. There are photographs here, all hanging and framed, all shrouded in shadow.


Scott Henkle, Cosima
In the fall of 1936 Grazia Cosima Deledda wrote: When I was a young woman I left Sardinia for Rome, where I have lived ever since and where I sit now and write this, having not returned to Sardinia in many years.


Brian Christian, High Latency: Faith as a Necker Cube and the Erotics of Lag
Both my grandfather and my uncle have had careers as professional drummers, and my father and I are compulsive tappers, our fingers fidgeting endlessly on every available surface—a dashboard, a tabletop, a thigh.


Sandra Newman, The Potato Messiah: A Love Song
that certain peoples in those isles had heads filled with raw potato instead of brains, and this did not prevent them going on to achieve competitive salaries.


David Huerta, Toward the Surface, translated by Mark Schafer
The surface is dark.


Ann Lauterbach, What We Know As We Know It: Reading "Litany" with JA
It has long been my contention, or suspicion, or just unverified hunch, that John Ashbery (like Gertrude Stein) has had some relation to William James and American pragmatism.


Cole Swensen, Besides, of Bedouins
A hotel is distinguished by its many rooms, and a room always stands for a moment of the mind, so every collection of poetry is necessarily a hotel, a sequence of spaces threaded in and above, and there within we live, in passing, in a corridor, in what brushes by your sleeve, the underscore of breath.


T. Zachary Cotler, Three Poems
Extinct women and men are falling/ through the wires.


Daniel Grandbois, Three Stories
The old man made a list of things that would not notice his death.


Jed Perl, A Magically Alive Aesthetic
In John Ashbery’s art criticism the revelations arrive casually, offhandedly, as if unannounced.


Russell Banks, From The Reserve
At six, well before the rest of the family woke, Jordan Groves left his bed.


Peter Straub, The Oath Unbroken
I wish this could be less personal, but it can’t.


Peter Orner, Birding with Lanioturdus
North of Goas Farm, along the eastern edge of the Namib, the scrub reaching out before us, the knobby Erongo Mountains rising like blue elbows in the distance. [and hear Orner read from this piece]


Mark Irwin, Two Poems
long, jointed bones, floating like a bird’s


Rick Moody, Cardinal in a Forsythia
Lost: Sister’s wallet. Her guitar. Her boyfriend. Eyeglasses. Smoking jacket.


Nick Kocz, Acquiescence
Roving packs of five-year olds roam the overgrown lots by the abandoned steel mills.


Charles Bernstein, The Meandering Yangtze
If you didn’t know what was going to happen next would you live your life any differently?


Kevin Killian, Where the North Begins (1923)
North of ’51 is a land of endless snow and whispering pines


Reginald Shepherd, Only in the Light of Lost Words Can We Imagine Our Rewards
There is no guarantee that any other trees will offer such muted epiphanies, or even that these trees would do so on a different morning.


Elizabeth Gumport, The Pool House
Every once in awhile, another ghost moves into the pool house.


Paul Hoover, From Sonnet 56
Sweet love, renew thy force, be it not said/ Thy edge should blunter be than appetite


Eric Linsker, Three Poems
I forgot it is going to snow


Martine Bellen, Year of the Bird
On the seventh day of the seventh month, Golden Bird Chinese Food opens its doors


Jonathan Thirkield, Two Elegies
I remember a tree of a painting.


Amy Catanzano, Objects of the Visible Language
Do you believe in the once indivisibility of atoms?


Sven Birkerts, The Other Walk
This morning, going against all convention, I turned right instead of left and took my circuit—one of my circuits—in reverse.


Rachel Blau DuPlessis, Draft 85: Hard Copy
17 May 1986./ Or whenever "now" is.


New to Audio Vault: Peter Orner reads an excerpt from Birding with Lanioturdus


Colleen Hollister, The Pool
It’s not Jenny who runs, or Elizabeth.


Laynie Browne, From Wave Offering
Today is day one of the Omer


Matt Reeck, Two Poems
The rostrum is able to mail./ Malachy owns a keyshop.


Julia Cohen, Three Poems
Comb the chrysalis from your beard to fasten the milkweed


Monica McFawn, The Slide Turned on End
"Humankind yearns for its amoebaean roots, hence Abstraction." Pause. Pause.


Kathleen Donohoe, Influenza, Mother of God
We ought to search for Lil when the woods have thinned for winter.


Christina Mengert, Five Poems
Inside blaze/   earthly figuration/ the lover in pieces at the mouth


Andrew R. Touhy, Three Fictions
Perhaps three days’ journey south, southwest, across a salt desert leading to an ancient wood dense with black cypress and a strain of ivy so fierce its creeping roots are said to choke even the soil it feeds upon, lies Cieloso, city of floating men and women.


Tasha Haas, Elegy for the Sentence
I remembered the sentence when I saw the old man and woman walking on the shore the man with a plank for a leg a war having kept the leg.


Ellen Hinsey, Notebook A: Notes on Wakefulness and Being
The body resists its knowledge of oneness—as if to exist it must renounce that from which it was issued.


Tayt Harlin, Interview with David Markson
I had a great deal of trouble getting started. I don’t know whether I was afraid or just thought I was bullshitting the world and myself.


Román Antopolsky, Four Poems, translated by Michelle Gil-Montero
Hand on the wall my/ time in turn to/ mute


Robert Urquhart, Works
place Pigalle night nine teen o five/ The house of Dr Gachet


Victoria Blake, A Hill in Spain
On our honeymoon, I caught a stomach bug in Spain


Rod Smith, Five Lyrics
The codes reawake


Jason Grunebaum, Major Nixon
Rob Nixon, do you remember me?


James Grinwis, They Found the Claw and Hung from It Chimes
The Aztec baby came in on the back of the wolf.


John D’Agata, Essay on What Is Want
When my mother and I first moved to the city of Las Vegas, we lived for several weeks at the Budget Suites of America, a low-rise concrete pink motel with AIR COND and WEEKLY RATES and a Burger King next door.


Juliana Leslie, Three Poems
Everything inside of everything else


Michael Stewart, The Devil, A Digression
The Devil has black tangled hair.


Robert Olen Butler, From Intercourse
On a patch of earth cleared of thorns and thistles, a little east of Eden, the first day after the new moon of the fourth month of the eighth year after Creation


Rikki Ducornet, Divorce
There are many reasons why I offer myself—in a manner of speaking—to a staggering number of young men, all Japanese.


Kevin Magee, Work Song
It is an hour. One/ of those hours.


Juliana Leslie, Paul Klee
How to compose a question: to spell the word blue/ in Paul Klee’s painting entitled Paul Klee’s The color blue


Carlos Dews, The Other Borges: A Fiction
The encounter I will describe here occurred in the Buenos Aires mid-winter of 2004; it has taken me until now to muster the courage to recount it and to conclude, as the gentleman involved insisted, that it contains a story that must be told.
This story is best viewed using Explorer or Safari. Netscape and Firefox are not recommended.


Erika Howsare, Is It Twice as Big?
We’d just gotten up./ We’d washed our faces./ Sky-blue mugs of coffee.


Ariana Reines, Two Poems
The water needs a forder.


Jason Schwartz, A Map of Her Town
The knife recurs as a figure in certain rooms.


Megan Pugh, Three Poems
We need new ways of living/ without resorting to crocodiles/ in wading pools.


Thomas Hopkins, The Ones Who Came After the Ones Who Could Fly
My father, like every man of his generation in our country, never quite got over the loss of flight.


Robert J. Bertholf, Interview with Theodore Enslin
What is the relationship in your mind between musical forms and lexical forms in a poem, or what is the process for translating musical form into poetry?


Rebecca Stoddard, From The Woodblock Prints
"a swan and its reflection on the water’s black surface"


New to Audio Vault: John Barth reads an excerpt from I’ve Been Told: A Story’s Story


Juan Martinez, The Coca-Cola Executive in the Zapatoca Outhouse
The Coca-Cola executive was kind to me, though everyone was being kind that summer.


New to Audio Vault: William H. Gass reads an excerpt from A Little History of Modern Music


Clark Coolidge, Five Poems
The pup is gone    want an amoeba?


Eva Hooker, Three Poems
Round uneven sumptuous it heaves up its weight


Anthony Hawley, Rothko Chapel Sequence
spaces/ farther off/ are spaces/ farther off


Philip Pinch, Trail System
I flush out a bird.


David Shields, Flood
Rain falls like needles, but Carla’s parents’ back porch, sheltered by a lean-to roof and enclosed by a tight green net, keeps us dry.


Jon Thompson, Three Poems
How the entire story is enjambed with color


Donald Revell, Can’t Stand It
I hear the elephant music/ Of the rusted swings

Kim Chinquee, Bobcat
I’d just turned thirteen. I was sitting in the hayloft.


Rachel Levitsky, The Story of My Accident Is Ours
If I no longer exist, if in fact I may never have existed in the first place, then do I have a name?


Tomaž Šalamun, translated by Brian Henry, Three Poems
You didn’t satisfy to us, man from Australia


Noah Eli Gordon, Eight Experiments in Artifice
A barge passing below a bridge is an example of a green horizon free from the expectation of green.


Matthew Cheney, The Art of Comedy
We had all failed by then—failed as husbands,


Joseph Starr, Before You Leave La Spezia
You Must See the Church

I won’t need to tell you how we built it, the dwelling, the house.


Justine Haemmerli, To Be Taken
I am going to write a story called “To Be Taken.”


Joni Tevis, Bather, Alone: An Essay
Some cave naked for fear of contaminating the water they mean to study.


Sandra Meek, Three Poems
Another pearl scimitar / sheathed in fawn


Geoffrey O’Brien, A History of Religions
Can you remember when you began to know that you were living in a medieval world?


Karen Russell , ZZ’s Sleep-Away Camp
for Disordered Dreamers

Emma and I are curled together in the basket of the Insomnia Balloon, our breath coming in soft quick bursts.


Erin Lambert, Two Poems
If the landscape has a pattern then it begins with your wrist


Andrew Mossin, The Book of A
A voice comes to one in the dark. Her voice or mine.


Diane Ackerman, Give and Go
Rolling over astroturf to his feet, the ball caught willowy Beckenbauer midstride.


Brian Richardson, From The Twenty-Four Words for Snow
Above the Arctic Circle the sun sets and does not rise again for weeks.


Adam Golaski, From Four selections from COLOR PLATES  part 4: Mary Cassatt
From an aperture she has made in the Venetian blinds she watches leaves fall.


Marcella Durand, From Traffic and Weather
Coming across the floor to greet us


Justin Lacour, Five Poems
Back then nostalgia was a doll, / you could swallow.


Brian Lucas, Four Poems
Upon the comal crop, winter, I separate what’s mine. Mimic me. Thorny.


New to Audio Vault:
Carole Maso, the author of Ava and Defiance reads from her story "The Passion of Anne Frank."


Brian Lucas, Two Poems
Thorny sky the possession enjoyment brings suspended in a circle of blue messages.


Toby Olson, Calavera
There are stories handed down through generations, not because children desire and are in need of them, but because their parents now understand them and can remember sitting at the knees of their own parents, listening to the telling.


Rebecca Reynolds, Two Poems
Take the sentence and divide out:


Juan Emar, The Green Bird
A 1937 story, with an introduction by Pablo Neruda and an illustration by the author, translated into English for the first time.


Terese Svoboda, Zoo Throes
We don’t start then. It’s an hour later, after snakes, after monkeys.


Megan Martin, Three Stories
They were bored, highly irritated by the goings-on of the world, not to mention sick and tired of one another, so they decided to make Texarkana again.


Dawn Raffel, Her Purchase
The woman is awake now. She opens her purse.


Nadia Herman Colburn, Five Poems
In the box there was no beginning and no end, but an openness stopped on all sides by the edges.


Thomas Hummel, Three Poems
if keeper shall her self infected house
twenty eight after the person dying


New to Audio Vault:
Emily Barton, the author of The Testament of Yves Gundrun reads from her just published novel, Brookland.


Jason Schwartz, Preamble
The bed recurs as a figure in certain burnings—the torches fixed to boards, for skeletons, and the boiling oil in pots, in urns, in bowls.


Marjorie Welish, Two Poems
When next more likely pantheonic backward-looking aspect, / it obtains that coin.


Aaron Bannister, Three Poems
Conviction is an engine, yes, / but idleness bubbles and babbles, too.


New to Audio Vault:
Edmund White, the author of A Boy’s Own Story and The Beautiful Room is Empty reads from his latest novel, Fanny: A Fiction.


Michael C. Boyko, From The Hour Sets
The researcher walks to the nine o’clock station and circles the cube, taking notes and making sketches.


Rosmarie Waldrop, Five Poems
Impossible. Without the idea of counting. To imagine numbers.


Matthew Cooperman, Between Tongues: An Interview with Rosmarie Waldrop
Poet, translator and publisher, Rosmarie Waldrop has, over the last forty years, brilliantly aided and abetted the conversations of the avant garde between America and the European continent.


New to Audio Vault:
Essayist, cultural critic, translator and poet Eliot Weinberger reads his poem Lacandons.



Daniel Coudriet, Three Poems
All of the children held in a blue sweater, / who is it knitting them together with tiny thumbs.


Shelley Jackson,
The gallows is the highest thing for miles.



Lesley Yalen, Levittown
On the broken slate under the Epstein’s carport, eight feet in eight canvas shoes made a circle.



Catherine Imbriglio, Two Poems
I have no one to talk with about my behavior.



Sandra Leong, Birth of a Brother
Sometimes I stay home from work without any excuse.


New to Audio Vault:
Gahan Wilson reads from Nuts


Ashley VanDoorn, Two Poems
Executives have been instructed with this defense:


New to Audio Vault:
Frederick Tuten reads from Voyagers


Elizabeth Hand, Kronia
We never meet.


Of surrender or denial, surrender and denial


Elizabeth Sanger, Three Poems
Finally, how to carry the sky/ at twilight? A rose so cool


Sarah Riggs, Responsibilities of the Champagne Flutes
Here is a glass on this table.


Soyoung Jung, Three Poems
It starts with examining our shores.


Jenny Boully, The Book of Beginnings & Endings
And if it were possible to pursue the bleeding heart dove to her nest, what then?


Forrest Gander, Mission Thief
Picking up/ toward evening, bay breezes


Can Xue, translated by Rong Cai, The Castle’s Origin
When all reasons to "live" are negated, and when one sentences oneself to death


Andrew Zawacki, Storm, lustral
Blue as already the shoreline


Friedrich Hölderlin, translated by Paul Hoover and Maxine Chernoff, Nine Poems
You walk above in the light, / Soulful genius, on a yielding floor!


Memory of silt and blush.


David Schuman, Miss
At the time, my daughter was known as Whitey the Cat.

03.31.05 to 05.07.05

In Memoriam
Robert Creeley
May 21, 1926–March 30, 2005


Kimberly Burwick, Three Poems
I leave with that voice? In Austria the alps are blowing


Ted Mathys, From Quandaries
imprisoned on the fissure the figure considers


Julianne Buchsbaum, Four Poems
an eternity of New Wave


Noah Eli Gordon, how human nouns


Catherine Cafferty, Scavenger’s Daughter
I would walk a tightrope for you


Joseph Campana, Stations
1. First, Audrey is in the garden. She will be there in the end.


Meghan Ferrill, IS EE YO UA RE
Ibak is my name.


Toby Olson, Swiss Miss
Lingers now in peace upon the swollen tide.


Rachel Blau DuPlessis, Draft 59: Flash Back
A half glass carafe,/ a choice red ochre chalk


G.C. Waldrep, From Archicembalo
Ask if this showing will make a better weave.


Eric Baus, I know the letters this way
The way I talk is a result of the way I hear her I was told but it took how long to show up in cursive.


Marjorie Welish, An Interview with Marjorie Welish, by Matthew Cooperman
What informs the decision to paint or write is a question about what necessitates the choice.


Alexander Theroux, Two Poems
What frightens little kids/ about the flying monkeys in The Wizard of Oz/ was never their faces,


Stephen Ratcliffe, From CLOUD / RIDGE
pale blue white haze in front of the vertical plane


Joshua Harmon, Summer Letters
shored up inside still


David Shields, Boys’ Bodies
My cat, Zoomer, is exceedingly centripetal and social.


Logan Burns, At the Drive-In with Reciprocal Rib
1. the opposite of light is light approaching itself


Kira Henehan, The Skirmish
And then I died and went to France.


Ann Lauterbach, Still No Still
Walden still for example no still.


C. D. Wright, Rewatching The Passenger
When Antonioni made The Passenger he had been shooting feature films for twenty-five years; he was fluent in his medium.


Rebecca Black, Two Poems
Play your hand, Madame.


Donald Revell, Three Film Poems
The bride of Heaven is Greer Garson.


Ben Doyle, FAQ
I first drew shoes on an animal a long long time ago.


Leonard Schwartz, The Library of Seven Readings
A sound like the wind possibly, sighing at what is significant


Brian Swann, Two Poems
It drew in my eyes, a slab, on it a huge white fish


Joanna Scott, On William Gaddis
To tell the truth is to tell a lie, he persuades us.


Paul Auster and Siri Hustvedt, On William Gaddis
I remember when we met Gaddis. It was 1084, at a dinner party in New York given by Bud and Cecil.


Jen Bervin, From Nets
A series of poems from Nets, a book forthcoming from Ugly Ducking Presse. Move your cursor over and away from each image to see the poem surrounded by or removed from its original source.


Patrizia Villani, From A Story
The man is in the backyard, quoting to the stars a secret


New to Audio Vault:
Paul Auster reads from his novel The Book of Illusions


New to Audio Vault:
Russell Banks reads from his novel The Sweet Hereafter


Rick Moody, William Gaddis: A Portfolio
The ten years after a writer’s death are crucial to the reputation of his work.


Russell Banks, On William Gaddis
William Gaddis’s project was noble and exemplary.


Don DeLillo, On William Gaddis
I remember the bookstore, long gone now, on Forty-Second Street.


John Verbos, The Museum of Small Things
I’m telling you this because you don’t remember.


Fanny Howe, Letters to Peter
When we met on the beach in Killiney, I was running away from my mother.


Clarence Major, Two Faces
Faces of sorrow


Renee Gladman, Untitled
"Choose this walk," I hear through the headphones as I read along in the accompanying book.


Sally Keith, From The Rooms Where We Are
I keep a math.


Howard Norman, Guest Editor’s Note
"What good is intelligence," said Ryonosuke Akutagawa, "if you can’t discover a useful melancholy?"


David Foster Wallace, An excerpt from Everything and More
A excerpt from Wallace’s non-fiction book on infinity, forthcoming from Atlas books.


Michael Harris Cohen, The Last Hand
Before me lies a man.


Marc Robert, The Sangreal
These things without nature, proper nature that is, of a terrestrial kind.


César Vallejo, translated by Rebecca Seiferle, Three Poems from The Black Heralds
There’s the desire to return, to love, to not be absent


Terese Svoboda, From Pirate Talk, or, Mermalade
Ma, there’s rope in my soup.


Thomas Bernhard, translated by James Reidel, In Hora Mortis
I no longer know of a street that leads out/ I no longer know of a street


Diane Williams, Two Stories
She wipes men. Three, four of them are robusta-bodied black or whitish. They’re cushion-like, semi-tender.


Brian Evenson and Stacy Dacheux, January
In January, during the deepest part of winter, after two years of pleading on my part not to mention numerous gifts and blandishments and increasingly lucrative proposals, she once again agreed to be photographed.


Ben Lerner, From The Lichtenberg Figures
When a longing exceeds its object, a suburb is founded.


Robert Creeley, Four Poems
I’ll never forgive myself for the/ violence propelled me at sad Paul


Cole Swensen, Four Poems
Is defined as that which walks


New to Audio Vault:
John Crowley reads from his novel The Translator


Michael Hayes, The Prince of Bees
There was nothing left for me after that but the beach -- the grey afternoon -- bells of cable cars over the lyme grass and a field of desiccated husks sprawling along the dunes.


New to Audio Vault:
Peter Straub reads from his guest editor’s note to Conjunctions:39, The New Wave Fabulists and from his story Little Red’s Tango (Or read the editorial note and the story for yourself!)


Arielle Greenberg, The Judge’s Wife
There’s a tower the lake calls Brother.


Chris Robson, Three Poems
In prehistoric times there was balance.


New to Audio Vault:
Howard Norman reads from his novel, The Haunting of L.


Amy England, Baba Ganesh, Ubiquitous Authority (from the Books of Ubar)
We divide the rectangular glass terrarium diagonally across the bottom, into triangular halves of clay and sand.


New to Audio Vault:
Laird Hunt reads from his forthcoming novel, The Dark and Lovely Portions of the Night


Gahan Wilson, A Portfolio of Seven Illustrations from The New Wave Fabulists


Gustaf Sobin, Drafts, Updrafts, and the Physiognomy of Air
This might have been a story about Vincent van Gogh.


Peter Straub, Little Red’s Tango
What a mystery is Little Red!
Hear Peter Straub read from this story at the Audio Vault.


Kelly Link, Lull
There was a lull in the conversation.


Elizabeth Hand, The Least Trumps
In the lonely house there is a faded framed Life magazine article from almost half a century ago


Peter Straub, Guest Editor’s Note
Who are these people, and what are they doing?
Hear Peter Straub read from this essay at the Audio Vault.


John Crowley, The Girlhood of Shakespeare’s Heroines
In the late 1950s the state of Indiana had its own Shakespeare festival,


Gene Wolfe, From Knight
The sun woke me.


M. John Harrison, Entertaining Angels Unawares
I got two or three weeks work with a firm that specialized in high and difficult access jobs


Lisa Lubasch, Certain Hazards of Living Without the Assumption of Timing
Tall words wring hands, though not effortlessly


Frances Brent, Three Poems
Aunt is sleeping, sitting up, but the chair is missing;


Micaela Morrissette, Two Prose Poems
Thirty-six percent of unbidden speech is a lie


Gabe Hudson, The American Green Machine
A story from the forthcoming collection Dear Mr. President


Malinda Markham, Three Poems
there is no mnemonic for lips


New to Audio Vault:
Gilbert Sorrentino reads two short pieces, “Four Soldiers” and “The Very Picture of Loneliness.”


Peter Constantine’s translation of Alexandros Papadiamantis’s The Seal’s Dirge, and Maxine Chernoff’s Keeper of Bells.


William Weaver’s translation of Alberto Moravia’s Two Germans, From A Dozen Surrealist Poems by Paul Auster,
and Michael Bergstein’s Three Requia.


Laird Hunt, From Dear Laird Hunt, Author of The Impossibly
Cold has descended on the country.


Carrie St. George Comer, Shelburne Falls
a woman’s face split like a potato by a bullet, her eye on a spring


Quintan Ana Wiskwo, All Winter Long The Girls Smoked Tobacco Leaves
Up in the hills the talk was of the men all disappeared and presumed dead.


Timothy Liu, DAU AL SET
Vocalise haunted still by faces smeared with ash.


John Taggart, Three Poems
Song after a song after story/one of the stories which end in stumps or falsely


Matthew Derby, The Sound Gun
Nobody knows what we are doing here. We are not entirely sure that the war is still happening.


Heather Ramsdell, Vague Swimmers
Thank you for saying pathos instead of pathetic, keeping us the same size as before.


Martha Ronk, Disintegration: Poem for Eva Hesse
Compulsive winding, bandaging


Reginald Shepherd, Three Poems
He’s sleeplessness pulled through/a seive


Peter Gizzi, Reverse Song
not because there is a road/ and a woman walking,/ nor the trees lining this road,/ the light at half mast


Duncan Dobbelmann, Three Poems
At 4:14 PM on September the ninth my imaginary trough became deeper, allowing for other realities to sidle up next to this one and demand the attention they had been deprived of during the preceding monomaniacal months.


Brian Evenson, Müller
HIS GRANDFATHER KEPT SOUNDING like he was choking to death.
From Conjunctions 37: The Twentieth Anniversary Issue.


William H. Gass, Foreword
NOT FOUR, BUT A SCORE. Little magazines are not supposed to last that long.
From Conjunctions 37: The Twentieth Anniversary Issue.


Christopher Sorrentino, Memory Alpha
Let me clarify: I was a boy who spoke into his eyeglasses.
Published simultaneously by Web Conjunctions and as part of Conjunctions 37: The Twentieth Anniversary Issue.


Shelley Jackson, Dildo
Being a disquisition.
Published simultaneously by Web Conjunctions and as part of Conjunctions:37, The Twentieth Anniversary Issue.


John Edgar Wideman, Match
Jules and Rita were rivals in the office and, therefore, hated each other.


Isaac Babel, The Trial
Peter Constantine’s translation of a previously untranslated story by Isaac Babel.


Natazsa Goerke, Two Stories
W. Martin’s translation of two stories by Polish writer Natazsa Goerke, "The Celtic Cross" and "Umbrella."


Mei-mei Berssenbrugge, Three Poems.
A selection from Conjunctions:6.


Howard Norman, From View of Kala Murie Stepping Out of Her Black Dress
A selection from Conjunctions:37, Twentieth Anniversary Issue.


Brenda Coultas, Two Poems
I’m the life-sized rag doll strapped to my master’s shoes dancing salsa in subway.


Amy Catanzano, Notes on the Enclosure of Beams
accidental myself among them a head of eyes


Jonathan Safran Foer and Bradford Morrow, Editor’s Note
The editor’s note introducing the Dark Laughter portfolio from Conjunctions:36, Dark Laughter.


Elisabeth Cohen, Kids Who Died at My High School This Year
A selection from Conjunctions:36, Dark Laughter.


New to Audio Vault:
An excerpt from His Blue Period by Valerie Martin, author of Salvation: Scenes from the Life of Saint Francis.


Julia Elliott, On Monsters That Have Come Forth from Women’s Wombs
It is true that men, upon occasion, generate wild beasts within their bodies.


New to Audio Vault:
Excerpts from Africans by Sheila Kohler, author of Children of Pithiviers.


New to Audio Vault:
Excerpts from Pierrot lunaire by Arnold Schoenberg, including Sarah Rothenberg on piano: “Mondestrucken,” “Colombine,” “Der Dandy,” “Eine blasse Wäscherin


Rabia Sandage, Peneplain
The rain came the day before and washed us all out.


Lynne Tillman, Ten TV Tales
A preview from Conjunctions:36, Dark Laughter.


D. E. Steward, Marso
Her hair had become too sparse to hold a pin.


Sheila Kohler, Pithiviers
An excerpt from Children of Pithiviers the forthcoming novel by the author of Cracks, The House on R. Street, and The Perfect Place


Sandra Meek, Twelve Days
A preview from Conjunctions:36, Dark Laughter.


Ben Marcus, From The Launch
A preview from Conjunctions:36, Dark Laughter.


New to Audio Vault:
William T. Vollmann reads an excerpt from his latest novel The Royal Family.


New to Audio Vault:
Carole Maso reads an excerpt from her story The Names, published in full in Conjunctions:34, American Fiction: States of the Art.


Gary Hill, Searchlight, 1986–1994
Stills from six different installations, spanning nearly ten years


George Quasha and Charles Stein, Stance Horizontal and Turning
An essay on the installations of Gary Hill


Archive Update.
Conjunctions:1—Cid Corman, Five Poems; Montri Umavijani, Five Poems.
Conjunctions:2—Mei-mei Berssenbrugge, The Heat Bird; Robert Creeley, Five Poems; Walter Abish, Spanish Sky.
Conjunctions:3—Ann Lauterbach, Three Poems; Robert Creeley, Four Poems.
Conjunctions:4—Ann Lauterbach, Five Poems; Armand Schwerner, Threads through the Denkorodu, Records of the Transmission of the Light; John Ashbery, Three Poems.
Conjunctions:5—Charles Bernstein, Three Poems; Theodore Enslin, Slow Theme with Nine Variations.


David Chirico, From Others’ Work
You arrive in a small seaside town where the installations of a little-known artist are currently on view.


Amy Havel, What is Missing
Take, for example, the phone call.


Cole Swensen, The Hand Defined: 1
A preview from Conjunctions:35, American Poetry: States of the Art.


John Yau, Film Adaptations of Five of America’s Most Beloved Poems
A preview from Conjunctions:35, American Poetry: States of the Art.


Gustaf Sobin, A Self Portrait in Late Autumn
A preview from Conjunctions:35, American Poetry: States of the Art.


James Tate, Witches
A preview from Conjunctions:35, American Poetry: States of the Art.


John Ashbery, Meet Me Tonight in Dreamland
A preview from Conjunctions:35, American Poetry: States of the Art.


Michael Palmer, Stone
A preview from Conjunctions:35, American Poetry: States of the Art.


Brenda Coultas, A Horseless Carriage
A preview from Conjunctions:35, American Poetry: States of the Art.


Mei-mei Berssenbrugge, The Heat Bird
a rain of parallel bright lines on the faces of the rafters
A selection from Conjunctions:2


Jorie Graham, Covenant
A preview from Conjunctions:35, American Poetry: States of the Art.


Montri Umavijani, Five Poems
Short pieces by the celebrated Thai poet.
A selection from Conjunctions:1, The Inaugural Double-Issue


Cid Corman, Five Poems
Hunger for/death./Eat.
A selection from Conjunctions:1, The Inaugural Double-Issue


Rosalind Palermo Stevenson, The Temple Birds Love Incense
(Netscape Version)
(Internet Explorer Version)
Angel trumpets grow on the North end of the compound.


Steven Hendricks, Fin, an excerpt
A slim view of the outside world.


Richard Powers and Bradford Morrow, A Dialogue
From Conjunctions:34, American Fiction: States of the Art.


Duncan Dobbelmann, Your Lips Testify Against You
I withdrew yet farther into my shell, snug as a meadow louse in a weedy mausoleum.


Joanna Howard, Light Carried on Air Moves Less
In a lavender twilight, on the west side of an abandoned pasture gone to hay in the greenest part of our state, a mendicant, a scarved pale beauty with silver bell earrings, curled to sleep on kinked metal filings on the floor of a windowless farm shed gone to rot.


Damon Krukowski, Four Prose Poems
The memory theater burned, and in its ruins I could remember only portions of scripture, commentary, history, poetry, biographies of notable men, successful recipes, homeopathy, botany, and the classification of animals.


Michael Neff, Once Confined
Pelvis sandstone        beside symbols of question


Padgett Powell, From Mrs. Hollingsworth’s List
From Conjunctions:34, American Fiction: States of the Art.


Steve Erickson, From Swan Lake
From Conjunctions:34, American Fiction: States of the Art.


Paul Auster, From Accident Report
From Conjunctions:34, American Fiction: States of the Art.


Dennis Barone, Bump and Grind
This is how we begin: a little paint here, a little dab there.


Joyce Carol Oates, The Revelation, from Four Dark Fables
From Conjunctions:34, American Fiction: States of the Art.


New to Audio Vault:
Robert Olen Butler, the Pulitzer Prize winning author, reads two excerpts (“I Am Whiplash Willy Jones” and “I Am”) from his recent novel Mr. Spaceman.


Stephen Ratcliffe, Portraits and Repetition
blue plane of water in motion below line of horizon


John Edgar Wideman, Stories
A man walking in the rain is eating a banana.
From Conjunctions:34, American Fiction: States of the Art.


New to Audio Vault:
Philip Roth, the Pulitzer Prize winning author reads from his recent novel I Married a Communist.


Paul LaFarge, From Lost Aviators
In the same year, a locksmith named Besnier who was no kind of aristocrat at all, and whom nobody had heard of except his wife and his three children, and those whose locks he fixed, built a folly.
From Conjunctions:34, American Fiction: States of the Art.


Asadullah Khan Ghalib (1797-1869), Five Poems, translated from the Urdu by Andrew McCord
My chains are no more than links of hair in the flames.


Weldon Kees, Three Exhibits
He went in the bathroom and examined his leg. It was a hideous color. The doctor had been quite right in his diagnosis.
Three stories by Kees and a photograph of the author.


David Shields and Samantha Ruckman, Outside: Postcards from Abroad
Got strip-searched in Tel Aviv while trying to leave the country.


Tom LeClair, The Liquidators
To compete with other road shows--monster trucks, heavy metal acts, wrestlemanias--and undersell local discounters, we’re a tour de force and four-day display of surprise.


Paul West, Two Stories
He dreams about Arnold Schwarzenegger, whose top-trim body is like a brown condom full of walnuts.
From Conjunctions:11


Shelley Jackson, Mus_e M_canique
Herman Godfrey is a machine, a miniature bachelor.


Nathaniel Tarn, Two Poems
Concrete edges (of what?); burlaps (coffee?); a white shroud (?)
From Conjunctions:11


Susan Howe, Three Poems
tatter of brute meaning
From Conjunctions:11


Ann Lauterbach, Two Poems
"Did you like Switzerland?" you ask for the first time.
From Conjunctions:11


Eleni Sikelianos, Matter has been Blown off the Surface of this V   i   s   i   b   le  Star
the universe/was the size of a darkening string


Michael Eastman, Horses
A portfolio of fourteen photographs of horses, with an introduction by William H. Gass.