Jeff Friedman

THE VOICE IN THE BUSH A fire burned in the bush outside my home. I stomped on it, but it wouldn’t go out. I threw handfuls of dust on it,...
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Love in a Time of Terror: An Interview with David Biespiel

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.

Leonard Kress

it signifies some terrible and unwanted part of myself has been skillfully excised and that now it rushes off, most likely to be run over by a fully loaded tractor-trailer, screeching...

Bradley Paul

My son speaks more every day / but I get deafer. / 
We will align for just one day / where I hear all of what he says // but not more.

Joshua Weiner

Black shadow hangs over the dust of my beloved; / So I turned myself into dust, but the shadow left me behind.

Ross White

Political speech precludes all forms / of understanding.

Ryan Van Winkle

you begin to feel / like a piece of wheat / standing up straight – / like other living things – // a tractor coming towards you / at 500 stalks a second

Arthur Vogelsang

I motion the black beggar at the intersection into my car. / We drive along and interrupt each other. / He doesn’t know he’s going to Burbank but he is...

Ernest Hilbert

We’ve entered the land of Jesus, Jacuzzis, / And jet skis.

Tadeusz Dąbrowski

Those who have spent / all their money go trailing about for days / on end and die of exhaustion. Discreet / services collect the bodies before anyone has time / to notice them. How do I know about this? I don’t.

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