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Conjunctions at the Brooklyn Book Festival
For free goodies & a smorgasbord of rare and new issues, see booth 228
Sunday, September 17, 2017
10:00 am – 6:00 pm EDT/GMT-4
Columbus Park, Brooklyn NY
 [Conjunctions at the Brooklyn Book Festival] Dangerous readers of NYC, Conjunctions can't wait to see you Sunday, September 17th, for the Brooklyn Book Festival!

Conjunctions will be at booth 228 in Columbus Park, outside Brooklyn Borough Hall, from 10:00 a.m. to 6:00 p.m., tempting you with an array of free bookmarks, stickers, and magnets, not to mention a jaw-dropping selection of issues marked down to $5: collections of artist-writer collaborations, of Caribbean authors, of new-wave fabulism, of remade fairy tales, of dark comedy, of verbal architectures, and more.

Please come say hello, then pillage and plunder! We love to meet our authors' fans, and we'll be out rain or shine (but probably shine, we hear!). You can get there on the wings of literature, aka the A, C, F, R, 2, 3, 4, and 5 trains (track work allowing).

Contact: Micaela Morrissette, [email protected], 845-758-7054

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In Print

Vol. 79
Onword
Fall 2022
Edited by Bradford Morrow

Online

November 30, 2022
Alice was actually a labeler and not a pickler. Still, she knew what Mr. H’s picklers did was nothing like her grandmother’s pickling, sweaty and stained and clouded by hot vinegar steam, shoveling already rotting vegetables into their boiling bath like some kind of unbelieving prayer. Everyone winced when eating what came out of her grandmother’s pickle jars. Mr. H’s were made of faceted clear glass, and the bobbing pickles inside were a bright, inviting candy-green. To look at one was to feel it snip crisply between your teeth, to set your mouth watering. Alice was midwife to that salivary burst. That was what she dressed up for. Today it mattered even more than usual.
November 23, 2022
I SAW ALL THE STRANGENESS IMMEDIATELY,

I saw it in this very particular slide of swell’s,
the sylphspun silk of the sylph, she sideways,
her garage is paradise in masque, her sweep
is saturn, szturn im sturm & string, install’d
in the area’s traverse. he follows that lucky
old sun, the gesture of her lining and loose
knot, and pulls herself through burns and a
dry wash and some soft lead. in discorporate
minerals, or in the sharing of the black sleek
sharing with the wild man in her soft shoes,
all over the panes of the various sworld and
out into the superhighway of bywater, hard
by marigny. to flow through one to another
indetermination, the posture of their brush
must be immaculate fray, all them, all they.
November 16, 2022
Day Book

One wants to grasp a latch.
The broken star, the cellophane.
One suffers if untethered from
the pain that brought a lock.
Across the way the husband tends his teeth.
The wife redresses, parted from her paper.
To emblemize, to separate the word
grief reaches. Grief reaches, unseduced.