by Bob Wake | Sep 8, 2012 | Magazine Article
You have to admire a poetry chapbook whose self-contradicting opening line trumpets, “Now is not the time to begin …” The poem, “Digging in the Fat Box,” a kind of encomium to failed diets and body fat as symptoms of spiritual longing (“wanting / to be filled”), and...
by Dion Kempthorne | Sep 8, 2012 | Magazine Article
I loved the words, the names,when I was a boy whenhis blue eye turned meto the muscular heft of arms,Winchester and Remington, the smell of gun oil and gun powder,the thumbed-smooth feel of wood and steel,the slick liquid clatter of lever actions,the lovely locking in...
by Dion Kempthorne | Sep 8, 2012 | Magazine Article
Let your dog runsee where it goes what it turns upwhat it brings back a hollow yellow balla blue baby shoe a rabbit-skin glovethe thumb torn off a shimmering star-ling fluttering in its moutha broken wing its eyes spark-ling beads of ebony its burnished beaklocked...
by CX Dillhunt | Sep 8, 2012 | Magazine Article
1. Saturday’s haiku is stalled in the 7-Eleven® parking lot 2. all night long waiting for Sunday’s rising over the un-burnt prairie 3. as this haiku forgets it’s Monday goes on counting without me gets (ready for bed early). 4. This one tries not to have a name wants...
by Geoff Collins | Sep 8, 2012 | Magazine Article
His house is lying down. He is out in the yard watching it happen. The driveway at dusk is a warm blanket wrapping itself around him. The sidewalks are long strips of gauze dipped in cohosh, snakeroot and flour. Please press that against your skin. Voices come in from...
