Rebecca Weiner Tompkins

ANOTHER AUTUMNAL Sometimes I imagine parking lots are water, dark seas no longer dry ground but not either anywhere to drown. Sometimes all the trees in the park are radiant yellow in the end of November twiligh...

Bernard Meisler

Bob Dylan just won the 2016 Nobel Prize for literature. Many are angry. But they're wrong. He deserves it. Joni Mitchel says Dylan is a fake. I take her critique with a grain of salt. Certainly Dylan is a confabulist—in...

Karina McCorkle

А следующий раз — глухонемая Приду на свет, где всем свой стих дарю, свой слух дарю. Ведь всё равно — что говорят — не пон...

Erik La Prade

On a particular February 2011, afternoon, I spent part of the day in June Leaf's studio, watching her work, and listening to her talk about her work. As I sat in a wooden office chair, I watched Leaf busily untangling some s...

William Carlos Williams

"The Red Wheelbarrow," a classic poem by the great William Carlos Williams. You don't need to say much to say a lot.

Michael J. Wilson

Tesla is Born The sound of a shell at your ear in an expansive void that is the mouth of the universe Lightening across the curve of the eye A crack in the spheres allowing a peek at the undergarments of God And...

Vincent Zangrillo

Gregory loved Cookie Mueller. Cookie loved John Waters. John Waters loved Mink Stole. I was in a pub called Beggars Bush in Ubud, Bali, in 1989, when the guy sitting next to me told me Cookie died. I finished my beer ...

Rich Ferguson

Jimmy and I drifted through the circus crowd on a magic carpet combo of weed, brews, Jimmy’s mom’s codeine cough medicine, and the downers I’d swiped from my mom’s medicine cabinet. All around us laughter and merry-g...