Online Exclusives

12.04.97
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. 71
A Cabinet of Curiosity
Fall 2018
Edited by Bradford Morrow

Online

A Selected Text from Conjunctions:72, Nocturnals
April 18, 2019
The first time I crossed the equator, I stopped for a photo. People usually do. I had come to work in a small clinic in a coffee-farming village in southwestern Uganda, just to the south of the world’s belt. I grew up in the midlatitudes: long summer days and long winter nights, the swing of light and dark like a rocking hammock. I thought of the equator as a human idea—a line on a spinning globe. Its tyranny was a shock.
April 16, 2019
In the first dream, the dog is disguised as a cat.

In the second dream, when I pet him, the dog turns into chocolate.

In the third dream, the dog is a ball of dirty yarn which I scoop up
and lay over my chest to muffle the sound of my rapidly beating heart.
by Can Xue
Translated by Karen Gernant, Chen Zeping
April 2, 2019
Jing Street, where I live, is a long, narrow street with many coffee shops and teahouses. Sitting in my third-floor study, I can see inside the “Island” coffee shop across the street. This small shop does a good business; it’s almost always packed. I frequent this shop, too. I secretly call Hoh Dao, its owner, “Mr. Perfect.”
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2018 American Book Award–winning author Valeria Luiselli reads from her work
Tuesday, April 23, 2019
6:00 pm – 7:00 pm
Campus Center, Weis Cinema