Proust

Robert Wrigley By the light of my reading lamp, she regards me, or regards the shape of me where I sit, the shadow I am, she being mostly blind. She’s lying on the couch, and it may be she is uncertain I am even here, for she was asleep when I entered the room and… More

Plum Summer

Stephen Massimilla Black horses have a deep blue tint to their eyes; in the plum-dark night they hang in the depths of sleep; and like the sheen of an equine haunch, the fruit’s black skin magnetizes touch, misted veil of questions broken by the press of my thumb. I would bite into this sweet, cool… More

Vowels

Stephen Massimilla -After Rimbaud A black, E white, I red, U green, O blue—vowels, One day I’ll tell your secret origins:
 A, black hairy corset of dazzling flies
 That boom around cruel stenches, Gulfs of shadow; E, candor of steams and tents,
 Proud glacier spears, white kings, shivers of Queen-Anne’s-lace;
 I, maroons, spat blood, laughter… More

D is for De-

Mara Jebsen which we can picture arising from the mind of the woman from The Yellow Wallpaper, perhaps long before the story begins degrade defile de– A deed is what is done by the doers; who are agents of what’s intelligent, responsible and do-able in the universe. Doers: hold deeds on parchment paper, to keep… More

Chryse: Thoughts about gold.

Mara Jebsen chryselephantine: meaning overlaid in ivory and gold– chryse: a wealthy greek courtesan, whose maids bathed her from clay pots with great sponges and smearings of honey; who was bangled with gold and who brought, daily gifts of perfume to the goddess aphrodite. chrysalis: a thing unformed chrysolepic: some creature, lets say a dragon,… More

E is for Easy and F is for Fate: Sheherazade in Love

Mara Jebsen A Fabricatress is a woman who Frames, who makes, who builds, who constructs: A liar. Something Fabulous is celebrated in Fable, is a rare thing that shimmers at the edge of belief . . . Facile: easy, Free from labor. To lift what pains the body and mind/ Easy on the Eyes. Easy… More

Arrival

Keetje Kuipers The streets were glass, the cars and salt-bellied trucks slid across them—perfect pirouettes until the light’s red. Beyond the frosted windows were the animals, and beyond the animals silence, baled hay like spools of thread scattered by a careless hand. In the next season would I become just one more hillside of purple… More