South-Facing Window, Four A.M.

klipschutz Sirens advertise their right-of-way on empty streets, guards conjugate in workbooks, lobbies glisten. Glass shatters, voices carry, pressure drops. Entire buildings perfect the parlor trick of vanishing in fog. Found, they’re gone again, like that. And so are you. Finger moon deveins the dark as orbits cross. Not a hiccup, not a hitch, the… More

Approaching 50

Vievee Francis for J With our down-turned mouths, and trenches forming on each side, evidence of our disappointments. Look at the nests by the eyes, we were so easily amused, (what else was there to be), and nurtured (if reluctantly) those who insisted upon our goodness. Ah, morality. Did you buy it? I didn’t. Ethics,… More

Anti-Pastoral #4

Vievee Francis I want to put down what the mountain has awakened. My mouthful of straw. I want to stand still but find myself moving from patch to patch. There’s a low In my throat. I sink to my knees tired or not. My hair a charcoal fire. What Man could live with this? When… More

My Jersey City

Michael T. Young The sun rises from trees, its light pooling under the leaves. But only for a moment, then the wind shakes it loose, glinting along rails as a train pulls out from Journal Square passing a recess in the granite trench where a ginkgo twists like a dancer of green grace fixed in… More


Bruce McRae The weather promises to change from man to animal. Today’s forecast is absence, with a chance of longing. In the east, flying horses and a scattering of flowers. From the west, incursions, barbarous hordes, black ice. The weather changes its mind, abandons its principles, is forced to choose between darkness and light. They’re… More

The Wisdom of the Ancients

Sebastian Agudelo What country is this? blind Oedipus stumbles at the threshold, on his way out, his last job. You feel for him even if you’re neither old nor blind, are just waking to the headlines. What country? The neo-Nazi baby showers, bbq’s with aging KKK’s, the munitions stockpiled in some California basement where, about… More


Scott Hightower “a murder of crows; a hell of guns” Oh, Vatican, have your bank clear our way to guns! We need them in our beauty shops, our schools, our class rooms, for our children with soft bodies. If we are going to transform our way of life into an arsenal, we need guns in… More


Catherine Champion I wanted a window looking out over tall ryegrasses, a wind bending them toward me, but there were only more houses, more lawns littered with failing gardens and stray sprigs of anemone. He was the white violets’ insisting bloom, taking on the blush of morning in the June-swelled air of that little room,… More