by Paul Mariani In the Tuileries we came upon the Great Wheel rising gargantuan above the trees. Evening was coming on. An after-dinner stroll， descen...
by Amy Clampitt While you walk the water's edge， turning over concepts I can't envision， the honking buoy serves notice that at any time the w...
by Hans Faverey Translated by Francis R. Jones Beating his lead with the blunt end of his axe， flattening it in order to forget that he is a child of ...
by Federico García Lorca （Translated by Cola Franzen） The weeping of the guitar begins. The goblets of dawn are smashed. The weeping of the gui...
by Wanda Coleman bed calls. i sit in the dark in the living room trying to ignore them in the morning， especially Sunday mornings it will not let me u...
by Jack Hirschman There's a happiness， a joy in one soul， that's been buried alive in everyone and forgotten. It isn't your barroom joke o...
by Nathaniel Tarn Sitting， facing the sun， eyes closed. I can hear the sun. I can hear the bird life all around for miles. It flies through us and aro...
by Alan Shapiro It may not be the ghostly ballet of our avoidances that they'll remember， nor the long sulks of those last months， nor the voices ...
by A. F. Moritz The greatest twentieth-century work of art is not a poem or a painting but the steel helmet： so said some Nazi curator. And indeed the...
by Lyn Lifshin Someone writes kike on the blackboard and the "k's" pull thru the chalk stick in my plump pale thighs even after the high...