Poetry

Too Much Dystopia?

Urgent through the lambent air Stormcrows croak “Despair, despair!” Dark clouds race against the sun And the water will not run. There is nothing here to eat And the heart will find defeat. All the iron rails are rust And our dreams have turned to dust. What is it that says this trope Is more […]

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Birth, Place

I made this land myself. I put dirt in my own mouth and hoped it would mature; you made              manure of the bodies of our mothers, asked us to chew the remains, and on our tongue they whispered, Babalú-Ayé, make my children potters of a planet, give them farmers’ […]

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Domovoi

Here I am, the understove-listener, the ancestral keeper of an indefinite gender and infinite hairiness who lives under your kitchen threshold, under your fridge, making your ice cubes perfectly square when you deign to pour yourself a drink: minimalist living requires an absence. I protect you while you sleep—but you want to wake up in […]

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Qi Xi

you should fly fragile bones and your heart beat beat beat your gilded cage cannot hold you the stars call your name and the nebulas are your skies the Pleiades your home somewhere, they meet, hand in hand, the bridge of your kin a red wedding string joining generation after generation you should fly fragile […]

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Seven Shoes

The witch said, “I will give you what you want. All you have to do is wear through seven pairs of shoes.” “Which shoes?” she asked. “Oh, any. But the number is important.” The first pair, she was wearing that day in the woods: red Keds. In them, she would ride her bike down the […]

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Dancing Princesses

It looks like a door, but it isn’t. It just wears the shape of it, like a wolf greasing itself in sheep fat. Here is what it isn’t—an ending or beginning, a snail of a fist or a palm-up platform waiting for a virgin’s deer-quick heart, a spindle upon which to spin out the yarn […]

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Twenty Seventy-One

Eric Blair coughed out his last red breath in 1950, but George Orwell goes stumbling on through the nightlands of America, a dead man’s pub crawl trying to drown the rhythm of a stamping boot and the claque’s counterpoint applause in microbrewery bitters and too much Bud. The White House says the truth is one […]

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