Category: Uncategorized
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One turns a knob, enters roomexits similarly you were “hatted”and pleased with your hat squatting in a little corner thinking “I am not nervous!” November fly, November fly, buzzing in the house You will be killed without mercy Because you are annoying and we do not Understand you — from…
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sex used to be in my poemsand now it’s back againthe dildo made of sunlightthe dildo that unrolls the sunthe camera inside you looking backtapping and blinkingpretty like a quarrythat counsels the charioton which you ride to itwhere a silver tent flies pennonsfor the tiny malletand the tiny stakethe world…
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–a transcontemporation of Max Jacob Poor woman, all her time spent talking to God, a two-way radio. How did she manage with just one walkie-talkie? “The other one’s in a field, scares away the blackbirds.” Since you can talk to God and he knows everything, can you ask him when…
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I fall asleep on the couch when I miss her, and I miss her. Today I saw the last flower in town and the leaves said hi. The grass scrapes when it is about to die. I work better in summer heat with shade from a tree and a body…
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— from Holly–(soon to be) published by YesYes Books — grace (ge) gilbert is the author of Holly (YesYes Books 2026). recent work is forthcoming in the Iowa Review and swamp pink. they teach hybrid poetics and arts courses at Brooklyn Poets and elsewhere.
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I hang your clothes inside my eyes.In the round tart dirt November.Human spittle in the sky. Parrot assand growingly increasingspeechlessness. Where you areI know you are where, weeks alonewith Jenny Pencil, in the wilddecoded dark. In the burnt-outspider web-less. Lawn clippingsin a bag in a stoneware potin the yard and…
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Scene 1: FARMER pulls his TRUCK over on a farm road, the scrape of gravel on a turned wheel sounds FARMER turns to HORSE who is sitting passenger HORSE Do you tell your friends I’m a good kisser? FARMER Errr HORSE straddles FARMER, her back pressed against the steering wheel…
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In the dream I was covered by the fabric of the text.In form it resembled a lion and had the features of a hedgehog.The spirits feared they might be engraved in books, and that is why they howled at night.You shaped the water for answers to questions I could not…
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I may have pissed on the jellyfish preemptivelyI may have been under the influence of marzipanI may have confused love and liability againI may have accused my critics of nepotismI may have stomped the gadfly out of maliceI may have flirted completely outside of my centuryI may have fudged the…
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— from According to the Plat Thereof–published by Ethel Zine Buy it here (Poem also previously appeared in Always Crashing) — Alex Tretbar is a Midwestern writer and abolitionist. He is also the author of the chapbook Kansas City Gothic (Broken Sleep, 2025), and works in the Center for Digital…
Poetry Nightly 