Jaydn DeWald This village is even dreamier than the original. Who, for instance, would reproduce the old snakelike impressions of our bodies In the amber grass, or reenact us, in a thunderstorm, flinging our undergarments From a cliff? It was lifetimes ago, those times. Now we cast no shadow over the plucked swans, and are left to sleep in corners Like a mound of coats. The path to our rowboat is even narrower, dustier; gnats Blot out...

klipschutz music by Chuck Prophet He dusts and does windows comparison shops can bake a cherry pie served warm right from the sill His whites are white His colors sing opera In his daydreams a jewel thief of hearts. . . Dinner on the table promptly or else And a piquant aroma it is Smell those bay leaves Cover and simmer Arrowroot thickens the sauce A mad dash of Parmesan Voila! Dates glance sidelong in vain for signs of disarray and...

Poet Bruce Snider talks about the experiences that shaped his prize-winning collection "Paradise, Indiana."

Ethel Rohan Inside her bedroom, Patsy depressed the hairspray’s nozzle until her finger ached and then touched the lighter’s flame to the flammable cloud. She stared into the airborne flames, transfixed. She closed her eyes and conjured the fire of moments earlier, beating overhead like a golden eagle. Patsy’s latest lover pulled her down onto the bed and sounded his nasty chuckle. “You’re not the only one can set a fire.” Patsy...

The Papercuts' frontman sounds off on Kanye, epiphanies, and the anxiety-quelling power of liquor.

Jason Quever gets out his Macbook, strips it down to the bone, and obliges us by recording two songs with just guitar and vocals.

Kevin Simmonds Chosen because you didn’t run from the ball or ringing bell. You go to school a believer in treats for complete stops and avoiding fire. Habit becomes pleasure. And there will never be anything more delicious for you than obedience. Kevin Simmonds is a writer and musician originally from New Orleans. His writing has appeared in Field, jubilat, Poetry, and elsewhere. He edited the poetry collection Ota Benga Under My...

Kevin Simmonds Mardi Gras Across the club is a man on fire— phoenix of mine burnt offering of cologne Calvin Klein briefs tight abs and arias on vinyl. I’m fierce with house and tonic Chiaroscuro: how they see me, feel me, taste but never hear me. Dangerous geisha, you’re so comely. Tell me, where’d you fashion that kimono— so dark? Song of David Amulet and apricot give my voice an expensive leathery sound. It never grows...

My art uses collages of photography, drawing, painting and patterning to create layers of images and meaning. The works deal with a variety of emotions about the coexistence of our urban landscape, nature and humanity. I am continually inspired by my surroundings, todays urban and natural environments...