Someone pulls me
from the dream
of riding
a winged horse
into an ambulance.
(poetry)
Tag: Poetry
I see Jesus watching people sell grilled chicken and nutritional porridge.
I see Jesus watching people trade real estate.
(poetry)
The latest in our FORTHCOMING series of excerpts from new and recent books.
there are trees. A tall one
that has shed all its leaves,
has its roots in my heart.
One, still bright with red
and orange, touches
the great loves of my life,
while a spruce, evergreen,
keeps me shamelessly naive.
there are no street ads anymore,
except for advertisements for death and patriotism.
this is our, no one else’s, autumn.
I’m a bit queasy from freedom,
from undercooked pasta with stew and raw water.
under artillery shelling
we are all as free as wheat,
as trees and birds,
(poetry/translations/Ukraine)
Lamb’s ears plucked where
the stairs are, prairie
grass, steeple here, and
dandelion bends,
(poetry)
How long is a piece of string when all we’ve got is scissors?
(poetry)
I think about the world:
a hummingbird’s heart
Its structure
so wickedly tender
(poetry/translations)
Memory exists as a sort of liminal space, where fiction often overtakes the facts. Burnside Soleil makes the same space of his debut collection.
(reviews)
Remains, remnants, in print only, a death mask; just as dead
But in another place. Taxons without Lazarus. Facts
Some data has confirmed. You, among the dead,
(poetry)
But every so often it goes berserk
And slips away from all control
It injects all sorts of liquids, starts to speak in tongues
And becomes infected with French syphilis or English rickets
Disrupting discotheques or buses filled with children
It dreams of ascension into heaven
(poetry/translations)
