by Eloise Greenfield In the land of words， I stand as still as a tree， and let the words rain down on me. Come， rain， bring your knowledge and your mu...
by Eugenio Montale Translated by Charles Wright The lemon bushes overflowed with the patter of mole paws， the scythe shined in its rosary of cautious ...
by Lorine Niedecker In the great snowfall before the bomb colored yule tree lights windows， the only glow for contemplation along this road I worked t...
by Wendy Mnookin I saw them making out， Sheila whispers from the stall next to mine. We're standing， hidden from each other on opposite sides of t...
by David Dodd Lee It begins early， arc crumbling over the yard with its salt bird baths. Then you dream of the banister gleaming， your hand from atop ...
by Ralph Burns He continues to ponder And his wife moves next to him. She looks. They look at themselves Looking through the fog. She has a meeting sh...
by Wanda Coleman we were never caught we partied the southwest， smoked it from L.A. to El Dorado worked odd jobs between delusions of escape drunk on ...
by Mary Szybist Flashing in the grass； the mouth of a spider clung to the dark of it： the legs of the spider held the tucked wings close， held the abd...
by Orlando González Esteva Scribbles are the lianas of the forest of our selves. Clinging to them， the primate still in us frolics free. Knotti...
by Carl Dennis Today as we walk in Paris I promise to focus More on the sights before us than on the woman We noticed yesterday in the photograph at t...