It is a pity it is evening, Li Po:would that we could all sit,cracking brazil nuts and muckracking with the moon.And yet look! The supinated limbs of factory laborers, sewing buttons onto starched shirts untilnimble fingers bleed, reattachto wrists, arms,
Newborn Eyes
I’m supposed to be nice because I’m carrying a newborn after all, a snuggle-bundle that makes people smile like I am some kind of hero or like I have some kind of secret to share, but really the only thing
To Be Read
For me, writing and talking are tied to reading—so much that it almost seems that reading is ontologically prior except that it isn’t, rather the three form a field that I must move in and, in this field, I am
Featured Visual Artist Issue #9
These images present a personal perspective of a particular place at a particular moment in time: Chicago’s Lincoln Park Zoo during its Festival of Lights. They are created by tuning out all other distractions and concentrating only on the light
Fuzzy Puppy & Fuzzy Kitty: a solo performance
DEKE WEAVERFUZZY PUPPY & FUZZY KITTY: a solo performance Once upon a time there was a fuzzy little puppy. He was the fuzziest puppy in the whole world. He was fuzzy fuzzy fuzzy. One day, the puppy met a kitty.
Child
I’ve tried all my life very hardnot to cheat it wasn’t easy Iwasn’t entirely successful and here comes this childangelic charm and cunning smilehis hand on a discardedcard he needs asking could Ijust not constantly watch him and I imagine
Dolores Haze’s Love Letter to the World
The crepe de chine of my floor-lengthgown dusts the corridor through whichI pass, en route to the governor’s ball,glass of Crémant d’Alsace in myfusilladed hand. Were this anopera, the flautist would bepoised, instrument aloft,in the orchestral pit:as it stands, it’s
Love Letter to Galileo: Saturnalia
—New Orleans, LA We spilled notes on bar napkins, novelists bussing awayour empty pint glasses, everyone waitingfor that moment when the frycook would bring his slide guitarto the back bar, spit blues as the roosters begin their call.We all have
Performing Anxiety in the Name of Gasp
(Before the choke-song I askmy elders for permission to speakour dry-tongue family slangfor the non-believers.) My mother pressed hervoice against my earand whispered “baby therewas a time I tried to get outsidemy breath and when I couldn’t I (Gasp from
Sleep Hunter
who is narcissus to charge forth, a bull, fear of blood miming his limbs? we refuse to give up our skin for his armor, we who are smaller than the seeds, we who are not dead. we know everything—will contact spirits