Right Now

Sure, I want to believe a poem can block a bullet too that a poem could save me at the end of the world, my bug-out bag teeming with “Good Bones.” My friend’s husband sells guns. He’s a republican. His sales boom under a democratic president, and sometimes he feels strange-weird about making money off… More

Donald Trump’s Face

A bank’s clean limestone façade, and inside, just past the marble columns, beneath the perfect glass dome, the carnival frenzies. Everyone he’s known or lost or longed for forced to wear feathery masks. He loves excess, but only in the way a flood loves excess—the destructive miracle of it, so much of what permits a… More