Month: April 2026
-
whatever the case may be, i have finally settled to the light of it. you know. like, the light of it. the morning softness, the blue so free, fresh. almost innocent, as though it wispy, waking up from the nap which is the night, swaddling the nape of the neck…
-
+
+
+
+
+
+
I can’t remember that the movie is overIf I stand too close I’ll keep falling intoOwls. Tree hollows I’ll watch youdrink with your orchid mouth speakthe word session. But then you’d thinkI might use my thumb then keep Examiningyour spine. Pressing shapes into my skinto stand like shadows. I’d like in…
-
+
+
+
+
+
+
It is believed there existed a species of dog as prophets.They smell events before their occurrences:the falling of a nest, the emergence of will in a womb,even a dissolution of affection. I, as an ordinary person,could only live in the nowness of any moment,could only recognize incidentswithin their temporality: When…
-
+
+
+
+
+
+
— from Issue 2 of Misophist Mag Read more here — Dominic Dulin is a poet and multidisciplinary artist out of Cleveland, Ohio. They have had poetry published by Iterant, Yum! Lit, Coma, among others. Their first chapbook “Type Man Type” is forthcoming from Community Mausoleum.
-
+
+
+
+
+
+
Each spring a necessary trespass, a living epitaph. I wake into willow and mayonly affect the yogic position of blowing away, yoked as I am to the humanitythat makes me a tree. Under my gay wallowing, meet me.–from Issue 8 of AntiphonyRead more here–Chloe Bliss Snyder is a poet from…
-
+
+
+
+
+
+
A knot’s shadowforms a cartouche.As sun eggshells the sun.See the red roots everywhereyour eyes are full of?It’s easyto spot a tsunami. The seabedmud silvers, I hear someonecall a twin name.Seismograph, polygraph: hairsthinner than a toy axle,wean the bootlickeroff boot polish.Without cresting a hill.Cresting the hill,your hands first were sails,fingers minarets…
-
+
+
+
+
+
+
During the intifada we used to take little pieces of Palestine and throw them at the Israeli soldiers and they would run away, and I’ve wondered since I was a child why they ran away when we threw pieces of the Promised Land at them! — from I Have Brought…
-
+
+
+
+
+
+
They come in, go out, celestial hedgehogs,galloping to exhaustion. Refractions and magma.Gravitation. The houndstooth jacket hung onthe chair. The bags (and their petitions) hung onthe chair. The present circumstances take fear’sedge off. Those flashes. Coming from every direction.The stain offers a view into the transfer of visibleto invisible, and, conversely,…
-
+
+
+
+
+
+
6Scattered reaccounting in the Miraculous and variedLife of the black Wittgenstein1A brief biography of smellsAnd other assorted objects 1910 * A cull. Pray beads over a soft strawberry whimper. The sounds of birth in a dream about birth. A hush over a valley or swamp.Laughter. 1920 * The grating of…
-
+
+
+
+
+
+
The stars are not policemen yet. And the fired light that skelters through your hailstorm ass is still not military grade. Another night, another dotted larklessness. And the knives grow their own wives and children! Where the sky meets the meat in the waves… I never thought I’d be reduced…
Poetry Nightly 