Richard Siken

Richard Siken

  THE WAY THE LIGHT REFLECTS   The paint doesn’t move the way the light reflects, so what’s there to be faithful to? I am...
Continue Reading
photo: Nick Rosza

Jane Hirshfield

The rain is string / for wrapping a package no one knows / the inside of, they just keep trying to mail it.

Amy Gerstler

Amy Gerstler

I pet baby mammoth’s roasted / hide, unfold hairy ear-flap still / stuck to skull and whisper into it. / Later, take chips of burnt sticks, / spit, plus mammoth fat, mix / in cup of hand and use paste / make to sketch young mammoth / on shadow wall. /

Laura Kasischke

Laura Kasischke

She said, So / you followed me this far, Laura. Good / for you. You’ve / come to the right / place to die. // Shit, I thought. Oh God...

Designed by B O D Y | Powered by Data3s