Scoundrel Time

Landscaping

My brother digs holes in the ground all day long every day he would rather dig a hole or four hundred than go home to the family at dinnertime sit around the table gutting chicken picatta in silence. He would...

Rion Amilcar Scott Is an MC’s MC: An Interview by Reginald Dwayne Betts

Rion Amilcar Scott is an MC’s MC. He creates the kind of imaginative landscapes that seem so real you wonder why you haven’t been paying attention to the world in the way that he has. But I gotta confess. I...

Paper People

No child wanted to be sent to The Shredder. It hid in a concrete, windowless structure several blocks from the car towing company, the chicken factory farms, and the E-waste recycling centers. That was where...

Two Poems By Cynthia Dewi Oka

You Don’t Have to Be Tough All by Yourself, You Said and if I returned the favor, it was much later. Or I lied. At the airport, waiting for my turn to sleep. Like a leg bone inside a grasshopper. In the selfie...

American Descent

“American Descent” began with images of Trump descending stairs: the elevator in Trump Plaza when he declared his candidacy (which didn’t end up in the final sequence); the bus steps when he was being recorded...

A Man at the End of the Hallway

Early in the morning the hallways of the Cancer Institute were so empty and quiet, they seemed nowhere near the crowded city of Belgrade, but in another world. While Slavka cleaned the gray linoleum floor, she felt she was navigating a giant...

Prelude: Howling from the Suburbs 2001-2008

  I I saw the best minds of my gender destroyed by material madness, gorging hysterical spandex, hauling their Hummers, dragging children up and down Wisteria Lanes, seeking 100% money-back guaranteed certainty, happiness, Who sliced and served...

Two Poems By Patty Seyburn

Just Tell Me You’ll Think About It   Kurt Vile on the radio trending sings “Pretty Pimpin’” and neither his assumed name or his song refer in any way to Kurt Weill and “The Threepenny Opera” – Vile’s back-up band called “The Violators.”  He used to...

We Value Your Memories

My wife has friended a coyote. Facebook keeps sending me messages from a slightly other world where a blind guy like myself jumps at the chance to buy expensive watches, cheap car insurance and a surveillance system for his cornfields. It’s a real...

The Brexit Bus Stop 31.10.2039

I waited for the bus. The first bus didn’t arrive for a while. I waited beneath a blood-red sun, sweating and exhausted. It was the first time in twenty years that I’d stood at a bus stop; the last time was on the last day of October in 2019. Brexit...

Three Poems By Dawn Potter

Walking into Town this road is empty for most of the day but when the log trucks whip over the ridge jake-breaking belching diesel then watch out deer the soot-stained sky glowers snow is on the way snow is always on the way & the tar is always...

First Day Back

I don’t hear the shots anymore , but I can still feel them. I feel them in every movement; each thought and perception is formed by them. I feel quite a lot, at the most dangerous times. Walking into school today, I noticed how the green and...

INFRASTRUCTURE

Whoosh like a river moving but it’s a highway of electricity making its way along strung lines. Teams and teams of men did this, forged and hung rubbery, waterproof cables. The chemicals it took: plastic coating and metal filaments to carry our...

Seasonal Elegies

My mother is sick, my best friend was dying; I had to travel quite a bit this winter—Vermont, North Carolina, Minnesota, Oregon, Massachusetts. And yet the way chain stores nudge a landscape into a kind of global uniformity, there was a...

Two Poems By Peter Schmidt

Starling Shout-Out About 60 common starlings were released in 1890 into New York’s Central Park by Eugene Schieffelin. He was president of the American Acclimatization Society, which tried to introduce every bird species mentioned in the works of...

CHIAROSCURO

Minutes on trains are longer than rivers. This, Chiara knows. It’s only two hours from Naples to Rome, but gazing at the grasses and soft vanilla clouds, it feels as if years have passed. Chiara sighs at the glass.“Are you sure we can’t go swimming...