Featured – BIG OTHER

Five Poems, by Micah Zevin

Gravitas, an oval shape. We partially shot our windows, our idiot boxes so we don’t see your faces. The…

Catullus Sails to China (1) Now that my sojourn is circling a drain Should I slow this engine down…

Crônica No. 1: On the Form The work of art, like the world, is a living form: it is,…

I don’t ask experts I take a different route along a stream back up to the main road and…

Spring, mid-afternoon I turn on the laughter up & over Small fireballs warning drivers not to turn It gets…

My father taught me to count each line of memory cut into a woman’s wrists. The red, round sores…

W H E N N A T U R E W O N ’ T P L U T…

Poem #1022 There is not much excess and what there is is barely perceptible the blank ones disappear from…

Memory Is Pagan the body makes us spiritual, living in its wreckage lets us breathe as the veil falls…

Leveraged a Meadow for Cece You unfolded from forms of careful guesses placed in a time where discussion lacked…