For hours in a small windowless freezing room, I spliced digital video and created fine fades—just so. I did not save my projects in the media bin. I did not name or save a thing.

I was having an affair with my partner’s therapist, and she was having an affair with mine.

I am a panting dog of a parent, running / to retrieve so many arms, legs, lips, / breasts, million nipples.

We never went to the moon. Instead we grew roses and fed our neighbor pasta and fruit salad.

In our latest interview, we talk to David Biespiel about his latest volume of poetry, Republic Café, a long poem that explores the radical intimacy of public trauma and what it means to inhabit the reality of the body politic within one's own skin.

Some stories should be left alone because there is no way to defend them / and no way not to see ourselves in the darkest versions of others.

Despite knowing what my granddad had actually done, his guilt had been carried to my father and now me. Maybe the restlessness that had plagued me all my life, and the pain that I was experiencing – perhaps it was all a hereditary curse.

There is no better servant than one who serves out of conviction. Only he who is burning himself can set others on fire. Juraj was burning...

To represent this life requires something out of the ordinary and in this diverse collection Uršula Kovalyk has found the imagery, focus, language and daring to have created something legitimately new.