by Madelon Sprengnether I lied a little. There are things I don‘t want to tell you. How lonely I am today and sick at heart. How the rain falls ...
by Pura López-Colomé Translated by Forrest Gander This world. A sound sometimes dry， metallic， at times rubbery， has settled the morning...
by Thylias Moss Columbo's eye， Peter Falk's indivisible from the other's vitreous dupe that he can pocket， rub into， off of， and shine the...
by Norman Dubie You were never told， Mother， how old Illya was drunk That last holiday， for five days and nights He stumbled through Petersburg formin...
by Gerald Stern In all these rotten shops， in all this broken furniture and wrinkled ties and baseball trophies and coffee pots I have never seen a po...
by Quincy Troupe 1. that day began with a shower of darkness， calling lightning rains home to stone language of thunderclaps， shattering， the high blu...
by Mary Ruefle It was one of those mornings the earth seemed not to have had any rest at all， her face dour and unrefreshed， no particular place&mdash...
by Randall Jarrell From my mother's sleep I fell into the State， And I hunched in its belly till my wet fur froze. Six miles from earth， loosed fr...
by Andrew Marvell My Love is of a birth as rare As 'tis for object strange and high： It was begotten by Despair Upon Impossibility. Magnanimous De...
by David Lehman Can't swim； uses credit cards and pills to combat intolerable feelings of inadequacy； Won't admit his dread of boredom， chief ...