Russo mimicked the pimp walk he had always seen in American movies as he went around the table and gave his four siblings an extra spoonful of oatmeal. “What time is Mama calling?” Jean, the youngest, asked, his eyes still crusted in the corners. He always asked the same question. It was like the questions …
It’s the first night I’ve slept over at Gerald’s. Yes, I am dating someone named Gerald. I asked if I could come up with a cooler name for him, something modern, geometric, all sharp angles and dangerous overtones—Axel, Gunner, Blaze—but he declined. Gerald’s cute in an awkward way, wears rectangular glasses and ties patterned with …
Because of China’s nature, there is a high possibility of conflict. —Chen Po-Wei, Taiwanese lawmaker quoted in the New York Times, July 1, 2020 It used to be my day off, July 1. I would rise early, maybe hit the gym or meet my hiking partner for a walk through the New Territories at sunrise. …
Like a lot of people, I imagine that if I make my telepathic frustration with whomever NPR is interviewing strong enough, I can call it activism. And then I am angry at myself for being one more ineffectual, self-satisfied, ego-driven jackass yelling at the radio. Like anybody, I like to look at pictures of animals …
In my childhood insects leave pieces of themselves everywhere Spherical eggs on a leaf Moth cocoon with exit hole (Papery and brown) The papery circles of a wasps’ nest Architecture held by athin stem Webs Dense as cotton wads Spread like an elegant hand Ripped Or holding drops of water A cicada skin with a …
but the Venn diagram is a perfect circle.I poke my neck through the hole of comparison like a hula-hoop hoping, under no circumstance, that it ever cuts as closeas the collar of the dress shirt hanging in my closet feeding moths a feast in lean times.It is the dead center of summer. We are centering …
Inner Sunset San Francisco 2019I would be ashamed to die this way: monarch pinned to his back seat, ashamed for my last light to be this tapering August, this avenue pressing through the fog of the blindfold the man’s fashionedto keep me unseeing. The turn down Frederick: streetlights, morepins, I feel them prick my skin. …
(To see the poem in its ideal orientation, use the circular arrow on the top to rotate counterclockwise. The scrollbar on the right can also help you navigate to all pages of the poem.) Text: how do women, how do women . . . ?you know, with no / lead their lives / clasp together …
Ants push god aside, emerging from their many tunnelsin what we term a “colony” while they don’t—taking umbrage,though having the grace to keep to their purpose, concomitantwith god emergent manifold and compelled across interlinkedtunnels with those mouths out of a constellation of gravel.Over the hill, many different ant IDs cross lines of forage,and traces of …
It is winter butthe poets are still coming.I once lived in atown where there were no poetsor children. The treeswere made of salt. When the windshook, nothing happenedbut daylight. There were no handssince there was nothing to take.
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