Body Count
Body Count is a heavy metal band fronted by Ice-T. Twenty-one years after their founding they received a Grammy Award for the song “Bum Rush” which features lyrics such as “It’s all twisted, the game is bent / Still no clean water in Flint.” Between 1986-98 there were four Hollywood movies named Body Count. The highest audience score on Rotten… Read more →
full landscape with no exit
I didn’t do it : the crisp light by itself mounted the statue and silence bleeds in my throat mauve-orchid the color of your eyes full mauve like a cathedral opens a secret door : stay on page so you could breathe but breathing is a flower with sharp teeth or stop thinking of me or break my bones and… Read more →
Lily
A lily of the valley walked in and said the world is doomed I didn’t know what to say I studied the lily of the valley and not knowing what to say I said why? money said the lily money for money’s sake also time blocks of time I offered her ice from my cup I had no money or… Read more →
Back in Iowa, Looking Out the Window at Rebekah’s Parents’ House
In the aching morning light, you see straight to the field of scrub and vines, and beyond it, to the run-down gate, half-closing the path to where the maple-sap drips as grapes deflate in the waning summer, and knapweeds, coarse but erect, rebel and push through the soil. Rebekah once told you that, as a child, she uprooted those pillars… Read more →
Riddle
The joy shimmied out by years of spreadsheets daydreams that rust into a retirement buried by the silver spade, flicked out of a deck slick like an afternoon sweat. How can a monthly invoice slipped from an envelope, read aloud like an incantation, memorized like a riddle, throw the sky to the earth?
Leisure Time
preen the image | in the videochat camera | gaze all day at it \ rub the teeth with finger | while conversing / with far-distant brethren | subsist / by self-soothing touch | license self | dole of chocolate | or iteration | of Candy Crush | mind modulates self | self-replicating machines | from the start | by… Read more →
From Ashes
I am not grieving, even underneath the forest canopy though the edges of my life have curled where the leaf litter crumbles like paper set on fire, charred and turned into decay that feeds a more precious nature due to its brush with death and more tinder-like qualities: dry, brittle, catches with abundantly close vigor, burns long enough to release… Read more →
The Story That Needs You
After Emily Bernard A mother’s blackberry heart ferments, juices. It’s not that her voice jellies. It’s that she’s beholden to therapy for sixteen-year-olds. Cliff she can’t help. Lick she can’t taste. The whir of the question: Do fathers get asked what their children think of their work? No clouds, no brambled bush, no story.
Bachelard and the Artist Interrupt Each Other
outside & inside my lines, oily red are both scribbled intimate spaces matter of passion they are always heat and downbeat ready to be brushed away reversed the hand tries to exchange their limned loops of ` hostility bodies pained if there exists a refugee in a borderline shadowed shade surface caught in between such masked smiles an inside of… Read more →