Because of their format, several poems that appear in the current issue are included only in pdf. To read them, click on their titles on the right side of this page.
The striped shirt drying
on the patio chair—
you can say he wore
when a man has selected himself to live longest of all
there will still be a fleet of Cadillacs to come for him in the night
self-driving from their garage
It is difficult reading today
Or doing my volunteer work at the hospital or reading.
Do you have anything unbelievable that you have read twice?
Pink Jackie’s back in the car.
The shot, the slump, the gore.
The sky’s a murky green. You stop the car
in heavy rain to take my hand and pray.
Is this a truce? An end to civil war?
It can be laughable
to stand in a room
and not know why
you came in there,
Hey you, untrue god, fiscal man,
futile man, sour young cad; hey,
yahoo, seducer, family gun nut,
i.m. Mahmoud Darwish
I went into the desert for the velvet flesh of two white fish.
And when the heat of the desert was withdrawn from me
Oh friends I am a prison to all that lies within me.
It burns the way phosphorus burns. It bears the raven’s flag
into the ragged country called by its natives Los Arpas.
The moon dragged her string-net bag of shadows through the boughs