By Sally Wen Mao
Some days, I sail on an empty boat to a country I don’t know. / With my navy-blue passport, I can go anywhere.
By Michael Martella
Through the window, what light gives / new meaning in the day.
Able only to recall / his parting footsteps—the chipping away at / a tree one fells at last
More from this issue
By Beth Bachmann
Time is the distance between birth and death. Parallel universes appear in real time on your screen. Place is an illusion. For instance, I am in the Palace of Versailles.
Rats can laugh, but the dogs aren’t smiling: they’re hooked on oxytocin, which rises when we lock eyes with one another. Oxytocin is not dissimilar to OxyContin, an opioid analgesic which can result in a similar sense of euphoria or attachment.
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.
More Online Poetry
By Claire Schwartz
By John S. Sledge
By John Freeman