Gil Fagiani

MONKEYS ON CRESTON AVENUE The Bronx, 1985 B--short for Beatrice--was the last of the Irish living at 2208 Creston Avenue. When I moved there in ‘75 her older brother was staying with her after a stroke prevented hi...

Dorothy Friedman

As The Insurance Dwindles In this house made of wood mother formulates ancestry cleans the fish and makes the rooms habitable despite the incessant drilling. As the insurance dwindles in each room an ornament rejoices...

Jeffrey Cyphers Wright

Exiguity I never get mad, I get even — written in glitter on the broad back of a fat man’s blue jean jacket. Everything faded except the dust & grease. Grace being a monument not to survival, but to resigna...

Yuko Otomo

Moon Walk Blues I’m not following the moon The moon is following me I just want to go home My hands are closed Half clawed But not fisted For I’m not angry I pace up & down To see the secret of summer I...

David Lawton

Fuck Buddy A fuck buddy will not respect your snot No strings attached is a precipitous fall A hook up can leave you reeling on the line That more enlightened age a filter on Instagram Don’t get me wrong I’m op...

George Wallace

There's A Big Moon Over Brooklyn Tonight There's a big moon over Brooklyn tonight, big as Dino's pizza. There's an angel over Dino's shoulder, she's wearing diamond rings. An angel with a raincoat on, though the moon is s...

John Greiner

Good Friday Diner The Louisville Slugger has got his eyes on the highway and the motorcycle that is going get him out and up the Hudson I-9 he's just got to go down to Brooklyn and buy it and once it's bought th...

Meg Kaizu

Countercurrent I ride the subway, Navigate through the maze With my eyes closed. Countercurrent in ancient canal. I recall your smile, The tone of your voice Over and over again. Your words spin in my head...

Joel Landmine

Barrio Muerto (Defector) During the poetry reading in the new artisanal soda shop in The Mission on a block that’s had botox, a block I no longer recognize, a man with one leg in madras shorts and a women’s card...

Rich Ferguson

She She is an amnesiac moon, a lunatic laundromat robbing me of my quarters. She has tombstone tarot cards; ties my pulse into a hangman’s knot. She is a forever leaving ship; my arms ache from perpetually...

Tate Swindel

Conception of Love for Leslie Winer Remember when we were younger When it was acceptable to lie down on the sidewalk Our cheeks pressed again...

Lynn Alexander

Last Time The last time we parted we were getting into our cars and I remarked how it was such sweet sorrow, and we laughed, already thinking about next time. But that would be our last time and now it’s strange to ...

Michael Rothenberg

SKIN HEAD This planet needs more martyrs Yay martyrs! Sacrificed on the Altar of the Holy Beast For the sake of the Holy Dream! Poet Hang, E. 4th St. Ave. B, 1979, photograph by Philip Pocock Everybody kno...

D. Nurkse

Attrition When we were children our teacher explained the war. She drew it on the blackboard until her chalk squealed. The dust of her erasers made us cough. What had she drawn? Rommel’s pincer movements? The oval m...