Kurt David Due respect to the Weather Girls, but raining men would be the worst possible forecast. I’m not saying I don’t eat peaches with aplomb, I’m just saying I’m sick of alt-right...
Phillip Crymble ——— for Robert Lowell At Roosevelt, the orderlies were forced to break your wrists — the large brown-paper parcel that you clutched against your breastbone heldin place...
J.C. Rodriguez By rolling together gray hairs, capers, nettles, & tuna in a page ripped from an old tabloid. A tube seared into existence from burnt dust & browned butter. It’s smokable,...
p. hodges adams2023 Greg Gummer Prize Runner-Up come hear me, in my twenty-fifth yeari stopped having sex with gender i meanmy lovers all favored the vestibule of language outside the party i mean i...
RJ Equality Ingram For Wesley Gibson Often I have imagined myself arguingSoftly w/ the wind & wake the way oarsSlip in & out of the murk barely a splashA quiet night on an...
Peter Vertacnik –after Patric Dickinson All the doors are locked. The dog’s been walked. Each tap, each burner off. No dome-light glows in the garage. Through that...
Rachel RothenbergWinner of the 2023 Greg Grummer Poetry Prize Somerset County, Pennsylvania Half a cow is disappeared from the farm in Berlin, a two-ton Holstein, it makes the paper. Gone the...
Rebecca Faulkner I am trying to remember — corners of your newspaper curled in a November breeze, mothballs in your herringbone tweed. Stubborn grief, my coat pulled tight....
