First Proof
Discover MFA Programs in Art and Writing
“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.
When we were first married, he went out and bought a ball gag.
Laker gold is how Pops describes it. To Little Man, though, that motherfucker is yellow. Canary yellow and dirty. Little Man knows it’s a Westview Public Works truck, even though the WPW tag was zig-zagged over with black spray paint.
We’re walking through the centered skylight spaces of the mall. I drop back on the cloud-white floor tiles, holding my phone up to record a video. Beautiful in its own way to watch in reality, but when I replay the video, following Alice into a store selling soap, the video doesn’t show Alice, only oval shaped air heat-trembling at the edges. I replay it three times, shocked each time when I’m unable to see her.
A selection of pages from Hands Up, Herbie!, a graphic biography of the artist and educator Herb Perr.
A Memoir of Witness and Resistance.
Painted on Yupo paper with water-soluble crayon, watercolor pencil, water brush, paper towel, and Q-tip.
A CAST of eight: ACTOR, CHEF, COMPOSER, DANCER, FILMMAKER, PAINTER, and siblings: SISTER and BROTHER. If necessary, ACTOR may be played by a PHOTOGRAPHER.
A recording plays from somewhere high, / or low, through the falling dust-light: / I can’t tell you anything new about the river— / you can’t tell a river to itself.
coffee cups / stirrer sticks / napkins and cookies / on the tray top / satellite tv / an office in the air
As we entered Arezzo, the guide pointed out the prostitutes lining the road. The women looked like awkward, flashy birds, teetering in bright spandex and spiked heels, cheap gold jewelry flashing in the summer sun.
Anja skidded down the slope, which was becoming muddy from overuse by feet. It still hadn’t been paved or even scattered with gravel, since Finster didn’t want to admit that the state of the pathway could no longer reasonably be called temporary.
