Discover MFA Programs in Art and Writing
The condition of most of our lives is that of continuous flight, in some manner or form—flight from faulty logic, from place of birth to the place we alight, from situations that no longer serve us, from political precarity—flight, as in rupture.
This is a story of? / a woman lying on her? / a back?—aback—with her? / a face hidden and a?
I disrupt the concupiscence of tube worms / where your snowy owl eye consults among white crusts / the venom of my gymnodactyl eye / which bribes the slag of trilobites
During his twelve years in New York City, Bosun, who went by Bo, got into some bad business with an import-export company in Queens. It turned out the company was dealing in stolen goods, and Bo, who drove a truck for them, was eventually caught one winter on the bridge between Manhattan and New Jersey.
“Let him sleep. He’ll be alright if he sleeps.”
Poets really think they’re doing the most with the least …
Her concerts, broadcast the first Thursday of each month at 9:30 PM Cairo time, brought life to a stop throughout the Arab world.
A collaboratively drawn comic.
The house was quiet and the world / Greased my palm / The air outside a weighted blanket / Scarab shells rising with the pitch of their hiss / In the shadow of a bodacious oak / I thought of a famous actor
“I preferred that others not be neglected but found the neglected gender suited me better than the not-neglected genders. I found my neglected gender to have a certain style. A style I like.”
the call to prayer plays on a victrola. the vinyl sat so long on an ellington…
I dreamed of home invasion, and of a great celebrity / hidden inside a series of rooms, each hermetically / separated by glossy, voice-activated doors, each / bordered on both sides by facsimile rooms, identical
My blood a prophet in a medieval castle with his people—been flogged in the streets / books burned / driven out of town by an angry / mob
He knows where a man’s heart is on display…
My mother sits on a coral reef, her gray hair undulating around her head, face blank, her eyes like a fish’s…
They found my mother’s first cousin frozen in a rented cabin up in New Hampshire, not far from where he’d gone to prep school. A smart kid, Bernard enrolled at Harvard on a math scholarship in the fall of 1973.
My twin and I met in the Midwestern college town where she lives, at a fan convention for Buffy the Vampire Slayer. I was dressed as Faith, the bad slayer in black leather and burgundy lips.