I want to publish
a book filled with poems
that you can’t read
you will have to touch them
you will have to breathe them in
the poems will be so small
that they will be written
on the hearts of hummingbirds
they will be so elegant
that they will resid...
old days have folded — I’m
calling to nothing.
they were rushed, now the drumroll
everything i once loved stands in a row of statues
— in that slumber i sense their
holding, but upon a
leaning their support’s as strong as dust.
fear and courage ellip...
‘Just now I have begun to think that if it were possible I would prefer Tai to enter me and feel her pushing against my organs. I would sooner have her within me rather than invade her’
‘Magaly Park’, p.71.
The Cartography of Others
by Catherine McNamara
Corollary. Endured, a whitewash. Literally. A golem’s chance. Not just him, though you have
marked. Resist! Is neither obsolete. We will not fall. An empty chamber, fueled. All strapped.
Collective impulse, impulse, falsehood. Airbrushed,...
We put up the tents
in a thicket of pine and cedar
on a ridge overlooking the cove.
The site was secluded and quiet,
but later we drove to the beach,
with its hot sand and crowds.
In the white platinum heat
of a cloudless summer sky,
a feast of tanned,...
A decade ago I lived in El Paso,
and I slept on a partially-deflated air mattress
in a small hot apartment next to my first wife
and her disassociation from me.
I was a young soldier, busy and dutiful.
A baby and...