Exposure
By Culture Issue 104
If I’m to be serious about my music, or any art, I shouldn’t put it toward anything as problematic as God, but toward ambition, achievement: the only reliable gods.
Read MoreLove Poem, Ending
By Poetry Issue 103
There will be thousands of warm nights
like this one, millions of the beetles, this whole darkened face
of earth erupting in brief constellations.
Proof
By Poetry Issue 103
Why pray for the dead if not for this,
for God’s speed on their journey, home,
beneath the burden of the proof they bear.
Prayer
By Poetry Issue 103
When will I have time to do
that which I desire,
that which I can’t make
myself do, ever?
Sam’s House
By Essay Issue 100
I hear, though, how torn he is: pulled toward something that seems to shame him. I think he half hates himself, and—like many men—he turns self-hatred into the hatred of others, especially women.
Read MoreQuick, What’s the German Word for “Friendship-Sickness”?
By Essay Issue 100
I would like for Louise Glück to be my friend. This is a recent problem
Read MoreLord Mouth dear
By Poetry Issue 54
Lord Mouth dear Tongue dear Only-Pierceable- Parts to what now shall I compare Thee Lord I am a lonely man I do not see My children often to a summer’s day To autumn Lord Thou art more peaceable Less difficult to leave to die in more Relenting though the sun does set in the sea…
Read MoreLacrimae Rerum
By Poetry Issue 86
And they rent their garments and painted their foreheads with ash in supplication and lament. The bright stone of the moon bent down, still upon the water where they stood to the knees in cold reflected stars. Breeze in branches made the sound of women wiping their eyes with paper or breathing in an icy…
Read MoreSnow before Sleep: A Reflection in Winter
By Poetry Issue 61
You must desire Nothing. —————Saint John of the Cross Light glows off the drifts like a child’s long gaze upwards. Only the sky is heavy, a drum full of laundry—white, reluctantly tumbling. I don’t need to look out the window to know how the corners of houses give themselves away, like people who’d do anything…
Read MoreReflection upon Psalm 121
By Poetry Issue 76
I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills. I think of that line again as blossoms blow with rain. Beyond the orchard someone sings. Birds cant their heads to ask if this is the tree they remember, if the refugee finds refuge, truly. Steam rises off the pond; or is it a cordite fog,…
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