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Poems
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Jerry Garcia in a Somerville Parking Lot
Past midnight, a man in his late 60s, tall, with long
Lloyd Schwartz
SOLILOQUY OF A TORNADO IN THE DISTANCE
I knew a girl once
Bruce Bond
Poem in the Old Style
At the beginning of the play Hecuba was mourning her great losses. She made lists, blamed the Gods: they could
Ira Sadoff
First Communion, forty-two and the unnamed
I shall sit here, on this bench,
Kristian Koželj
Insomnia
It is a stain that feeds on moons
Ana Minga
Yahrzeit
This was the woman who remembered her childhood.
Mark Jarman
CONGREGATION | AT LAST
We are six strangers gathered
Floyd Skloot
A Bookstore in Hay-on-Wye
In a Tudor castle now a vast used bookstore in Hay-on-Wye
Andrei Codrescu
Ode to Hands translated from Spanish by Mihaela Moscaliuc and Juan Suárez Proaño
Nothing can hide from hands
Juan Suárez Proaño
Polar Bear & Memento Mori: Stradivarius
I am relieved. For twenty-seven years,
Jennifer Franklin
Genital Epistemology
don’t it make you snicker how desire goes
David Huddle
LONG AFTER HE IS GONE | LAST OFFER
All the summer’s night
Pamela Alexander
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