Online Exclusives

12.30.04
Swiss Miss
Lingers now in peace upon the swollen tide,
ruby-throat fallen from sky in the last few hours. [...]
11.16.04
From Draft 59: Flash Back
A half glass carafe,
a choice red ochre chalk,
a felt-blue paper  [...]
10.18.04
From Archicembalo
Ask if this showing will make a better weave. [...]
09.17.04
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. [...]
08.17.04
Diagramming Here: An Interview
Free verse and the prose poem may have emerged in revolt against the formality inhabiting French language but insofar as New York School poets write imitating the relaxed line that they have read they persuade us of their urbanity and their literariness.  [...]
08.01.04
CLOUD / RIDGE
pale blue white haze in front of the vertical

plane of the ridge in window on left, sunlit

orange flower on green passion-vine covered

fence in right foreground  [...]
07.08.04
Summer Letters
shored up inside still
they speak liturgies over
this valley’s grid [...]
06.01.04
The Skirmish
“… and then I died and went to France.”
Thus, the story of your life wrapped up and pensive. [...]
04.17.04
Two Poems
Play your hand, Madame.
      Black stripe down
your dress, keyhole slit,
      door to a dark room.  [...]
02.26.04
FAQ
I first drew shoes on an animal a long long time ago. [...]
02.17.04
The Library of Seven Readings
Because its material substratum remains transcendental
the freedom of the subject, which the transcendental is designed to rejuvenate,
allows us to inhale and exhale refreshing drafts just as we approach the summit. [...]
01.22.04
Two Poems
It drew in my eyes, a slab, on it a huge white fish
just landed, or beached, a beluga, intact, naked  [...]
01.06.04
From Nets
you               absent in

                              every thing



    the deep vermilion
                  figures
              pattern of

    your shadow [...]

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In Print

Vol. 78
Fear Itself
Spring 2022
Edited by Bradford Morrow

Online

May 18, 2022
Still Life With Flying Sombreros

Three sombreros hung on pegs in a cantina, where their owners stood at a bar, soaking in the tequila. The sombreros got to talking and soon discovered they all despised their owners. “My man,” a sombrero said, “came home drunk every night and beat his wife and children with a hard stick he kept just for that purpose.” Another sombrero confessed that his owner sat on a porch and shot cats that had strayed into his garden. He skinned the cats and displayed their pelts over the fireplace.
May 11, 2022
                                  1.

Someone nodding, and the light pressing down
as though it had weight.
And right in the middle of what I want to say
there’s a long row of chairs. There are green,
red, yellow arches that gradually contract
and close, like doors.
Like a disease whose threshold no one can cross,
she says.
May 4, 2022
Once upon a time, there was only Olga and me, as well as our old dog, Boji, in a big house we inherited from our parents, whose food we had slowly been poisoning in a span of at least a year. Our parents blamed their “chronic illness” on inclement weather, on the “heathens” who played rock music next door, sometimes on “cursed” and “possessed” appliances and furniture.
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