Garden
As it flowers, the garden
poetry
Consent
Sunlight rubs against our bodies,
Junkyard
Owning nothing, there is, I see today, a touch of those cars
The Good
The good itself could be a mushroom,
Pairing
Already I have let wet balconies replace you,
Syncline, Anticline
Syncline, anticline:
Pragmatist
I was on a tractor in the sun
Ataraxia
I'd come in from a wind, a wind in a storm with snow
Aubade from a Centre Room After Nightlong in the Fields
There were dimmings and gradation in among the collard shoots,
Contributions to Geometry: The Pelican
If it is math they use, it is one of finger nails
Pages
Current Issue: No. 301
