Editors

“WALTZING OUT OF IT, IN OYSTER SILK” / LANGDON HOUSE

“WALTZING OUT OF IT, IN OYSTER SILK”    My sleeves are an open tin. I mean it like it is — like it sounds. You wouldn’t even recognize me: opera-length, quellazaire held like a spear held like a periscope.   You wouldn’t even recognize me.   And before — before was just ...

sound of chromosomes

There is no continental drift to xx. Glacial voice elevates between top teeth and soft palate, swallow inbox groans. No matter how hard one tries to expel nomenclature, the minor keys linger in all-night gas stations. My lovely contagion, wifi, ...

IN SLEEP, AN EVENT MUST MAKE OUR FORGETTING

1990s     textless house, & in pieces   brush-alert warm sky fieldspan a window and night-for-night imbalance its focal points are frame left to right, top down   smooth slow, angle change rectangle click, I spy who’s the voyeur & from where   II.   the man has a tattoo on his hip, yellow, red, ...

The Way Your Husband Walks Beside You

The doctor asks, were you blue as death or infancy? Metal on flame   and bearing it or mad, embracing it, I say. Without praise.   The water where I swam as a child tricked the heart. Pebbles   masqueraded as a shore, piled right to where the crags ...

Ink-stone

you are a brush of calligraphy sweeping designs across my belly ink splattering circles and symbols like a string of black lipped oyster pearls strewn between my thighs don’t lie you never wanted to lick the stone where I ground up green dye mixed with water- where I ...