Paul Kincaid reviews Kentauros by Gregory FeeleyNHR Books, 2010, 101 pages, $15978-0-9829008-2-6 Of late, “punk” seems to have become as ubiquitous a suffix for proliferating subgenres as “-gate” is for political scandals. After cyberpunk and steampunk we have, most recently,
Triple Sec / Triple Bluff
The computation of participation splits complicity into degrees of luminosity. In the domain of the curtained cabinet the hand cock of irreparable damage crows the bluff of its triple surrender. In the preliminary distillation the identity of the open-handed cock
There is Nothing to Love About Road Kill
In the merge of human|nature guts slosh & splatter (Tell me again about the time you cut yourself by accident) In the evening there is a crisp of yellow sunset we armed wild with roses & husbands sleep curled part-fetal
Fingersticks
This blood is thick with pre-existing and hazardous plaster, resisting its animal. The entirety of its expectation is to fly from its zoned circumference while being set free from filthy skin cut with a dull and sterile blade. I’ve been
Elephants
They must fear us the way we fear snakes— poisonous and skulking in the brush, a creature so low to the ground we think we could trample it before it strikes. & aren’t humans a history recorded somewhere in elephant
Daughter at Eighteen
Looking back, I’ve caught her in mid-air, the girl in this picture. What’s left of summer— loose gold in an upsurge of hair, a scalp-bounced, tree-ward, throng drawn all the way from her soles against the snap-back, shallow give of
Kendrick Won the Pulitzer
When your skin looks like tar, people will inquire about your elasticity: How far can the heavy-booted men spread your body before there is no room for air? Always questioning, they’ll ask: Why can’t they touch you? You’re so
Before I Inquire More Formally
Sarah Hulyk Maxwell lives in Pittsburgh with her two cats and dog. She also has a husband and an MFA from Louisiana State University. Her work can be found in various publications, most recently isacoustic* and The Mississippi Review.
What I Have Made to Feel Close
Sarah Hulyk Maxwell lives in Pittsburgh with her two cats and dog. She also has a husband and an MFA from Louisiana State University. Her work can be found in various publications, most recently isacoustic* and The Mississippi Review.
The Midwest is a [Place/Bruise]
Before we took exit [226 / 115] off of State Highway [69 / 70] we thought America was [ alive / fathomless], which is to say, not consumed by [metal / grass] and [ apathy / wonder]. Every local [diner / bakery