Mara Michael Jebsen i’m starting to be startled       by the way time passes it seems to fall out              like clumps of hair its November         the Hudson river’s all gooseflesh and silver the history books sing of trains, souls boarding and riding       till… More


Mara Michael Jebsen When I walk down Atlantic Avenue in Brooklyn where they sell African Black Soap and the Koran, it hooks me: the dark red leather, a dark like behind my eyelids when I close them. There’s a girl swinging a machete, cracking the coconut that lies against her palm. She’s out on the… More