By Cyrus Cassells
That was the season I couldn’t think or write indoors, the garrulous springtime every strophe, every...
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- By S.J. Fowler & Rebecca KamenSIR, the 28 spheres of Kamen’s harmony Susceptible, inferred, immense, actual - the electron microscopy...
- By Maurya SimonDelirium in the downtown mall today: Burt Reynolds! All the henna-haired girls sneer, while their mothers...
- By Richie HofmannMy sweat soaked the sheets. You used to be like everyone else but then the way you hurt me (fingers,...
- By Genevieve ArlieThe geometer wishes he were David cut from stone by lightning, his mind gyring wide into figures of ...
- By W. H. AudenAbout suffering they were never wrong, The Old Masters: how well they understood Its human position;...
- By Mark Kirschen1. Details frighten me. As the trembling blue Strokes of The cathedral imply It has been there And it...
- By Duane NiatumAs salmon awaken to the pulsing dawn, he hears night heron farther down the Skagit River. The grey sky...
- By Anni LiuThere was a woman who claimed to be made of rain. Dust and the water that closes around it like a pearl...
- By Marianne ChanBiddle City was painted by no one, but I will paint it now. First, I will use my flat, long-haired brush...
- By Tina Mozelle BrazielMy first trip, I scoured every floor of the MoMA, winding around other patrons before they could read...
- By Anzhelina PolonskayaRight now perhaps you're holding a horse by the bridle. Perhaps you're with someone, the lights still...
- By T.J. ClarkThe sea in the wind in the half-light, clearing its throat of pebbles, Cloud shadows coming down the...
- By Holly Corfield Carrdistant water extinguishes the town where it was thinkable for a mussel, an animal that otherwise can...
- By Miller ObermanI bring my students to the Frick to see Frank O’Hara’s beloved Polish Rider, and after giggling at the work Bronzino...
- By Ian PopleSummer dust settled over the garden in bloom and full of bees, their hives full of such marketable honey...
- By Shane NeilsonIn the famous American art gallery, they are looking at Starry Night. In the famous American art gallery, I am...
- By Keith S. WilsonI love how you never find their bodies, how they never rest their eyes. I love how their breasts are...
- By Anne SextonThe town does not exist except where one black-haired tree slips up like a drowned woman into the hot...
- By Paisley RekdalAre the drapes drawn open or being closed? Each of the heavy, velvet wings is clasped in the hands of...