Online Exclusives

12.04.17
Green Angel
After the complete failure of the tall motors used to shift the wind toward the ocean, the village became isolated from the others that had been planted along the continent’s jagged black shores. [...]
11.30.97
The Big R
Hourglass figure
receiving threats [...]
11.18.97
Gold Carp Jack Fruit Mirrors
You want, simply, to stop breathing and hear.
Yesterday was a day just like tomorrow. [...]
10.29.97
Darkness and Light
There is a not-so-funny story my aunt Josephine used to like to tell: “When you were born, your mother thought you were so ugly that as soon as she brought you home she shut you in the closet.” [...]
10.21.97
Barcelona
What does the poem erupt?
                                          Nothing. [...]
10.15.97
From Uproar in Heaven
by Fred Ho
Nothing in the world is impossible
If you are of sincere will. [...]
08.21.97
From Thaumatrope
Cantatrice of redglass
as a mirror in flowers
as bloodstone hangs fissuring suns
as a gaze suffers the light inviolate— [...]
08.21.97
From Mermaid’s Purse
It was never mentioned why the princess was placed upon the top of the

glass mountain, or how she might descend. [...]
07.30.97
Three Poems
The handwriting
is cramped and hard to read.
The story familiar, someone in unknown territory. [...]
06.09.97
Cravings 
Emmy Hitler ate lamp shades in her third trimester. [...]
06.09.97
Must We Stoop for Violets in the Hedge?
Walking down the street with it, I studied its amazing contours in shadow. The hair loomed above me, spiny and monstrous.  [...]
06.09.97
The Intransigent Penetration of a Metaphor: A Post-Interview Encounter with Robert Coover
A writer needs isolation, a cell of his own, that’s obvious, but distance can also help. It has a way of freeing the imagination, stirring memory.  [...]
06.06.97
The Manuscript
by Severo Sarduy
translated by Esther Allen
He had spent the entire night smoking twisted and intoxicating cigars that filled the room with a bluish, sickly sweet smoke.  [...]
06.06.97
Winter Visits against His Cell 
I used to live in an office, or rather, there used to be an office where I live.  People used to come here and rent things, places to put their extras, places to store the artifacts they were trying to forget.  [...]

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In Print

Vol. 69
Being Bodies
Fall 2017
Edited by Bradford Morrow

Online

April 17, 2018
There was a socket in the wall my mother told me not to touch. The wire innards of the plug spilled out of the unguarded hole. The wires looked like black spaghetti.
April 10, 2018
“And you say they’ve been here how long?”

     “We don’t know exactly. Our estimate is a month, approximately. It’s difficult to be sure, we don’t keep tabs on our employees, so it could well be longer, a month and a few days, perhaps.”
April 3, 2018
Cold hole in my right pant
through which
                        grass’s eyelash brushes my calf,
                                                                
flirty infinite    
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