by Jean Toomer Hair——braided chestnut， coiled like a lyncher's rope， Eyes——fagots， Lips——old scars， or the fir...
by Jordan Davis With practice I could fold a rose Or a theory of prose or some treason But what is to be got a satire？ Expedience？ the opera of laught...
by Peter Jay Shippy I walk in the park and select a maple leaf. With my Sharpie I write：YOU ARE HERE. Carefully， I place the leaf back where I found i...
by Carolyn Kizer The whole green sky is dying. The last tree flares With a great burst of supernatural rose Under a canopy of poisonous airs. Could we...
by Mary Rose O'Reilley Monet confided to his journal， "All the while she was dying， I could not stop painting her face." —Monet at...
by Michael Teig When he couldn't sleep and his sight got going he noted the colors on the back of each painting； this one forest blue， that gunpow...
by Stephen Beal There was love and there was trees. Either you could stay inside and probe your emotions or you could go outside and keenly observe na...
by James Galvin A pinup of Rita Hayworth was taped To the bomb that fell on Hiroshima. The Avant-garde makes me weep with boredom. Hares are wishes， e...
by Wyn Cooper What was it you wanted he calls out the door as I walk toward his house， which tilts uphill. I just wanted to ask， I start to say &mdash...
by Bernadette Mayer I saw a great teapot I wanted to get you this stupendous 100% cotton royal blue and black checked shirt， There was a red and black...