fall 2018
Table of Contents
Return to Home PageOde to the Cockroach my tiny minnow Cara Waterfall
Victims of Captology
Kyla Jamieson
Tulips for Barbara
Ann E. Michael
George Bowering: Scatter-Gun
Ken Cathers: the sum
Craig Dworkin: The Déjà Vu of Déjà Dit
Stephen Bett
Marketplace
Road Trip, 1985
Christopher Evans
Re: Wards of the Crown
Jeremy Luke Hill
If You See Something, Say Something
James Cagney
Ganapati Brume Yuugen Gulf Adam Day
Poetic Outcrops poetic extracts: study #8 Sean Howard
Phantom
Courses
Steven Ray Smith
forbidden music
we should probably
Conor Barnes
For Murphy Glow Stick Fingers Jade Riordan
Friendly Nuts
Carl Joesf Homolka
Under the Arbor
Heather Bourbeau
The First Treatise
The Second Treatise
The Third Treatise
Yara Farran
The First Treatise
In hubb,* there is a hook,
no sinking ships or marbled mouths,
just punctured lips and
a melody that breaks the silence
between a fricative and vowel
between peeled bodies and forgiving grounds and reparation;
did you learn how to swim during the Flood?
When yellow cabs were bellied like gutted moon wrasse.
When umbrellas were Floating Heads—Mount Rushmore.
If New York were like London and Tripoli
we would not need coded love songs.
We would not need metaphor or natural disaster
or heavy-leaded anchors in the shape of an
‘O’.
These
perfect circles and
public spheres: a tidal storm of theoretical dissonance
and a shore filled with the ersatz of last summer’s riot, and overturned fish.
To die so soon,
before season’s arrival:
how premature our overripe expectations
and
how filthy our song.
* Arabic for the word love.