The world is like a boat and the crew thinks they know why the water chops the home, why the forest is picked apart by the bank and looks like a city or a desert. The spreadsheet flickers under the lightning and the crew wants someone overboard as if they were the storm’s anchor. I don’t want part of the broken political machine chewing its … Continue reading “Narrative of Explanation” by John Gosslee
My first real job was as a journalist; I reported during the day, copy-edited at night. I worked for three of the largest newspapers in the nation. I couldn’t wait to get out. My press pass said EDITORIAL/NEWS REPORTER but what I really was or what I really wanted to be was a recorder, recording details and sensations about the people and their lives, not … Continue reading “The World Writes Itself” by Chris Campanioni
We got off an R train At Lexington Avenue And went down the steps To catch an express To South Street Seaport To hear some music. Kids were breakdancing On the 4, poorly, So we bailed to a local At Grand Central And got on the last car. There was a girl Sitting to our right Dressed all in black: Black boots, black mini, Black … Continue reading “Rashomon” by Ron Kolm
a friend i could help a while ago maybe three or four years ago i met at this clinic i thought it was a clinic at least i thought i could change a life somewhere someone somewhere the clinic asked me if i could hand out bleach kits if i was okay with it thinking it meant something else like hair or teeth or skin … Continue reading “A Friend, Five” by Daniel Woody
a friend he slips up says he takes long runs to soften his blues might be too private so he blushes gets me thinking can anyone see my brown skin blush from shame love guilt heat drink arousal failure fear or is it that i blush brown and for a moment i darken or perhaps i mean blacken This is the fourth in a series of … Continue reading “A Friend, Four” by Daniel Woody
a friend he tells me nothing is better than taking a good shit i laugh but then i notice he has built his life around taking good shits efficient and clean he eats whole grains and fruits and vegetables and each morning and night metamucil he avoids meats from inferior butchers snacks on yogurt and oats bataille wrote about this shit he looked at it … Continue reading “A Friend, Three” by Daniel Woody
They say it’s too expensive to live in New York. And yes, it’s true. So maybe that’s why you couldn’t come to the reading of The Opiate, Vol. 6. Or maybe you’re just an illiterate sumbitch who would prefer to watch your “stories” on the screen. Whatever the case, now you can watch us on the screen, in this crude combo of reimagining and actual … Continue reading The Opiate Vol. 6 Reading at Pacific Standard
a friend she and i talk as the sun sets over chicago she says i think trauma is a gift not only do i not believe her i am angry trauma is not a gift but a weight i remember whitacre his song when david heard absalom was slain he went into his chamber over the gate he wept and thus he said o my … Continue reading “A Friend, Two” by Daniel Woody
a friend apollo he becomes an old friend the moment we meet yesterday yesterday he says i am apollo this one he speaks in poems i want to write he peeks in poems but that’s me i guess i mean you think apollo means more than he realizes he means but you realize in fact he knew all along there was nothing to be realized … Continue reading “A Friend, One” by Daniel Woody
When Somalia was 15 she sat in a Mexican school house with 15 other pupils all in white button-down blouses and plaid skirts with knee-high navy blue socks. Her professor was called Señor Cigala or Profesor. Somalia’s classmates called her Lia with an accent on the “i” always making it sound as though what they wanted was urgent. On the 15th day of November Lia … Continue reading Somalia, Ernesto and Señor Cigala by Melissa Hunter Gurney
