Kissing, Fire

Yvonne Zipter I. Our lips are so dry, she says, we could start a fire, kissing. Once, we were incendiary as match tips, any flick of skin on skin: a conflagration, a curtain of flame through which we saw the world. Something as coy as oxygen fed us, our bodies the proverbial two sticks rubbed… More

Ekphrasis:To Fede Galizia

Jack Kristiansen after Portrait of Paolo Morigia You’ve posed Morigia as bookish, as in his seventies but still busy with his reading and writing. He’s removed his glasses to study you while you study him. He doesn’t see you as Judith holding a sword and the head of Holofernes. No, he’s admiring an eighteen-year-old holding… More

Christmas Morning

Marc Petersen I am on my way to extinction, here, today, Christmas morning, my blanket spread out, my wine uncorked, lighting my first cigarette before the stone that says my father, and the tiny angel smiling on the granite roof, and those who have gone past their deaths in rows up along the banks of… More

Elegy for C.D. Laws

Anne Champion Your death was the illusion of glitter smeared across a lake that vanishes as the sun dips under the horizon, while grief clanged within, subsiding the way ice melts in a glass of vodka: potent, transparent, dissolving clear against clear. I became nocturnal, searching in the crisp coldness of night sky, imagining you… More