By Beth Bachmann
Your heart is like an island, like a bomb chambered for containment and you should handle my heart like a rare species of flower that grows only here, like a thing that can destroy.
There must’ve been some incident, something to push both Dickinson and Proust into isolation, the horse thought as a student, but now he thinks time and immortality require one’s full attention.
go to the library to learn how to administer NARCANto stop their mother or father’s heart from overdosing.
By Colin Channer
Confusion is the foreigner’s advantage. Natives tamp the nuance in their sounds. Stranger seeking refuge pockets vowels, picks gesture,learns body, gets caught up on the cobble
By Irène Mathieu
to practice intense study. to research. to seek again. to require confirmation,a proof. to believe. to believe in knowing because it can be saidagain and again. the proving of a theorem. now the corollary: to have learned
erasure of a letter to the current homeowners:Dear moment driving through a double take.I grew up. twenty years ago. [...]
By Sanam Sheriff
At a certain point, I lost you. I came to know it first as a weather, the earliest hour of day breaking on the bedsilk, its low rung of light, a pregnant silence.
This is the sound love makes—tolling of a tongueless bell, its waggingand wagging despite; its whole headteeming with wind. The sound
By Dave Lucas
I would be Diogenes. Swing my lampthrough these dishonest days in search.I myself have looked the known worldover and given everything a new name.
Imagine you could learn the names of every river,each upthrust mountainand fault folded on itself: