“If you come to see me, come in the early spring. My front garden will be full of daffodils. I will hang a black flag from the porch. You could read Kropotkin out loud to the children before bed. No matter my exhortations, they still ask for princes…” Read it here: Dear Emma Goldman

“The small of her back pressed to the kitchen sink, she pauses in her graceful work of gutting fish She lights a cigarette with a wooden match from the cluttered windowsill and breathes smoke like a Chinese dragon from a take-out menu, red-inked…” Read it here

from Insomnia “The raccoons are into the empty beer cans again their percussion, their chirping indigent song I reckon they are building rocket ships, time dilators…” from Little Butchers “There is a swallowed stone, hidden in the bursting belly of all things There is a singing root, burrowed into the lungs A bird sewn up […]

“A needle could go in, a hatpin with a pearl bead, a stray earring lost in the bedsheets. Or a monster could come out, like Athena blasting forth from the skull of Zeus, fully formed and ripe for war. Her rind of armor splits, juice and pulp gush…” Read more: The Pupil of an Eye

“Wet eyes in kitchen light, feversmacked in through the window and out again galaxies spinning like so much confectioner’s sugar spilled…” Read more in the May 2014 issue, page 7: Bitterzoet