Sunday, April 24, 2011

Shane McCrae


Master I learned from     more than anybody him

what love is how / To recognize it love

That’s how I knew I was right to cut Mary’s throat

Thinking of what he     did to me my

body what I knew he would

Do to Mary     to Priscilla cut     / Didn’t just cut

and leave her body move

On to her sister     made     sure she was dead

I loved her     wanted her / Head to come off in my hands

Shane McCrae is the author of Mule (Cleveland State University Poetry Center, 2011), and two chapbooks, One Neither One (Octopus Books, 2009) and In Canaan (Rescue Press, 2010). His work has appeared, or is forthcoming, in The Best American Poetry 2010FenceAgniDenver QuarterlyTypo, and others.

Sunday, April 17, 2011

S.M. Fattig


Don’t see me, don’t hold me.  Only remind me of past thievery, of a lack less biting. The neat growing stack of unspeakable things: Tiny lips, tissue tricked, numb-limbed spectery.  The exact translucence of slitted eyes and fists.  Oily sluices of blood bear us into braced airways, a house without a door.  Next to her on the blanket (spreading stain etc.), a surly cobbled heart. 


Everywhere he goes, John the Baptist scans compulsively for places he might sleep if he were homeless.   He marks street names and landmarks in a notebook.  Water towers appeal to him especially.   He is often mistaken for Kris Kristofferson and middle-aged women beg him to sing “Jesus Was a Capricorn.”  John patiently explains to them that actually, Jesus was a Pisces.  They walk away whispering cruelly, elbows and wrists scraping together.   When he is particularly distraught he steals cats from porches.  He returns them moments later, overcome with dander and self-loathing, eyes streaming.  He vanishes glumly before the police.  It is a lonely existence but he feels satisfied.

S.M. Fattig is currently living in Nebraska and pursuing her MA in Early Childhood Education.  Her work has appeared in Octopus Magazine, Ink Node, and MARY Magazine.  In addition to poetry, she is currently at work on textile projects involving found fabrics.

Sunday, April 10, 2011

Dan Rosenberg


burrow in blankets
the heatless extremities

what can’t be

but isn’t leaving

a light in your lung
head to a familiar breast


The mosquito
frozen to my window

in a splay
of not falling.

White landscape pops
his tan stripes,

wings arched,

Dan Rosenberg's poems have appeared recently or are forthcoming in several journals, including American Letters & Commentary, Pleiades, Subtropics, and Sixth Finch. His chapbook, A Thread of Hands, is available from Tilt Press. A graduate of the Iowa Writers' Workshop, he is currently pursuing a Ph.D. at The University of Georgia and co-editing the poetry journal Transom.

Monday, April 04, 2011

Brian Foley [Part Three]


it takes longer
to gather light
from under

to replenish
each please

over a goon
put up with

what sea
could take it to the
other side

and bring
you to me to be

where else
but in the frame
love forms

for the simple
reason that
it does not insist

Brian Foley is the author of the chapbooks The Constitution (Horseless Press, 2011) & The Black Eye (Brave Men Press, 2010). His poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Boston ReviewSpringgunAction YesSaltgrassColumbia Poetry JournalPoor Claudia, & elsewhere. He curates the jubilat reading series in Amherst, MA, and co-runs Brave Men Press.