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Gillian Conoley’s new book of poetry seems to aim at a kind of reconciliation: with the self, with family, with lovers, with the digital world, and with larger abstractions such as death.

Death like a shadow of black silk unraveling/after an atomic blast, your arms outstretched/in the background a curtain surrenders in the wind

There is a freshly-made bed next to mine/that I don't touch/There is a hum in the room, a hymn/in the sky/That evening two animal gods stood mountaintop/and I sat below in the sunset, my body rooted.


The narrative is fragmental, and drifts like movements which possess their own immediate merits. The symphonic quality is evident. Stravinsky’s "Rite of Spring" is not a piece which moves in a deft pattern, and neither is Hartigan’s collection.


Forth from the intersecting origin

Each number is newly born/and ages as it goes/this is the realm of the rich/and the shallow, an empty quadrant/where they think they exist

The people who I love are growing infections. They florally reconstitute. I am wishing their stamens. I am unconscious. What lips these flowers will vaunt.

we never stay in the ground long/and you will come when we call/only we come back wrong/only we come back/with the foreign gods hanging on

What are her threats but testimonies of love?

Sonnet 3, 10, 15

Screenshot 2014-06-03 at 10.10.25 AM

CALLED BACK BOOKS—a new press run out of Oakland, CA and crafted by the poets Sharon Zetter and Lucas M. Rivera—stresses the import of THE BOOK and will be focusing on small volumes from emerging writers, highlighting the discourse of POETRY and a range of mediums germane to the question of ART, METAPHYSICS, LANGUAGE, ETHICS, ETC.

  Usage else makeup without pretty retweeted without personal notes retweeted without notes without personnel retweeting personal doubt is else bulling me typing retweeted. I can’t speak for myself i can’t tweet. I cannot speak of an illness I cannot speak a chance dogging the title unwoken else used i make Bully negated retweeted.   He slows things down, catches the vulture Circling above our clearing in the woods. He Focuses on lichen, close up to mimic Coral. His body dances on the rusting can. I built a garden in the game And spent my labor In that garden, to make it dissimilar. _________________________________ cris cheek is a transdisciplinary poet. He is currently Director of Creative Writing at Miami University in southwest Ohio, where he was the Altman Fellow in [...]

whatever holy something / might want / even me / a teenage symphony / a pure system of spasms / wrecked with sex /

lara glenum

Her snout is scaly + She has a grotty disease


I’m not gonna eat Keats' eye after all and use it/to see who will read me when I’m dead

Amanda w. Book Yellowed

Swallowed Whole Recently, on vacation, I saw a blue heron catch and eat a fish. In its middle, the fish was a good deal larger than the heron’s slender neck. Looking out subway windows, sparks fly, light up graffiti tags in this dark, rat-infested tunnel I am hurtling through. Ideas leap to mind: violence, poverty, being born with very little real opportunity. I’ve been taught these ideas. The heron brought the fish on land, pecked into it repeatedly until it was good and dead, then somehow managed to swallow it whole. Can I have an original idea? It all feels collaborative, this living of life. My original ideas are the smallest of perceptions. I’ve been taught, too, the importance of graffiti as urban art, street culture expressed. I’ve rounded many [...]