Online Exclusives

12.12.99
Matter Has Been Blown off the Surface of this V   i   s   i   b   le Star
In my collection of gluons whose color adds up
to white:

a time the universe

was the size of a darkening
string [...]
12.07.99
Horses
by Michael Eastman
introduction by William H. Gass
Everything swims up into its eyes. Its agility, its strength, its swiftness: These qualities soften though they do not lessen as they rise. [...]
11.26.99
Canaan
The news is always of rapture

A plume of dust, the raking of ashes [...]
11.10.99
The Lightning Field (V)
Your mind unkinks itself like carded wool
as one foot steps in front of the other, circling
the five-foot figure-eight infinity loop [...]
10.17.99
HIGH PRESSURE/film shoots
by Kathrin Rögala
translated by W. Martin
and off the mark meadows tipped in in green, which should serve as a pattern here for figures, but the landscape doesn’t know anything, just talk to it, though, and it’ll give in at once. as always [...]
10.08.99
Sappho’s Sparrows
there are so many places to find you   in the endless   white spaces you have left us [...]
09.27.99
Remembering Mr. Gaddis
A memorial tribute was held May 6, 1999, for the late William Gaddis, the esteemed novelist who died in December 1998. [...]
05.19.99
The Raven
Story time done but plenty left over, riches of fishes and fancy comestibles heaped on the table within; a toast, friends, to the slow servant! No master for me. One of the oldest professions, mine, and right honorable, too. [...]
05.17.99
Some Maps
Which it watches, where it waits
In cleft or cavern or crevasse
In dolmen or diluvial boulder-hoard
Not the fissure, not the fosse, a flaw [...]
04.04.99
The Word Laid Bare
Congealed, concertinaed version of “I bet he’s had it,” meaning he has come to grief. [...]
02.27.99
What Happened with Gilbert That Night
Think of our silhouettes lengthening across the bare stage, the creak of the wooden boards beneath our feet, the broken spotlights of gray glass, the dizziness as he twirled me erasing the curtains from my sight, his muscled legs folded in bunched trousers, the actors gone home. [...]
02.12.99
Mechanics
                         Will you
                                      not come again?

                          I will go—
there soon.
                          Will you
                                      not come again?

                          I will cross—
the river twice [...]
01.24.99
A Quiet Poem
My father screamed whenever the phone rang.

My aunt often screamed when she opened the door. [...]
01.03.99
Fog Life
One, two, three, four … strung in a seaward-running necklace each foghorn sounded progressively more distant, a warning that here an island lay. [...]
01.01.99
Paper Head Last Lyrics
They are said to be in the book,
           but there is no book. [...]

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In Print

Vol. 76
Fortieth Anniversary Issue
Spring 2021
Edited by Bradford Morrow

Online

July 21, 2021
“Well, technically batshit,” I’d tell him, and I’d remind him that, seeing as we were trapped in this cave—“Cave?” he’d say, and I’d say, “Yeah, the cave we’re recovering from eye surgery in,” and he’d say, “Oh right”—and that seeing as we’d be thus—“pardon the expression,” I’d say—interred for at least as long as it took to recover, that the cave would be, for all intents and purposes, what we’d have to mean, from here on out, by the word world; and thus bats, who were the only creatures still flitting in and out of the cave’s narrow apertures and thereby participating in the larger ecosystem and importing to an otherwise inhospitable environment the most basic elements needed to sustain life, their excretions would need to be, for the foreseeable future, what we’d have to mean when we’d say sun.
July 14, 2021
And all manner of head swerves.
Three people flew past me, but did not see.
It’s not even clear what happens to the chicken on the bobsled.
 
Trails . . . that slither with their cake.
Will you have more?
May 26, 2021
I remember how, when we got word that it was okay to emerge, my parents opened the front door. My mother was holding an aluminum baseball bat, my father had a shovel. The three of us were in our hazmat suits. (Mine had grown a little taut. I was eleven years old and had gotten taller and rounder.) Our breaths were trapped in our masks.

How long had we been indoors? Time was hard to figure. It had been well over two years. But had it been three?
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