“my father siphons the dreams / out of my forehead before bed. / He draws out every last drop / & what is left?”

What Is Pupation If Not Purgatory Misdefined?

I Eat Poets’ Words for Dinner

“I unwind / a migratory bird, / an orphaned accordion,”

“We bisect midnight, listening to Oppen. / Refusing to be numerous is to be frozen.”

“here, too caught up in their fear & old / bones & fear. All writhing knots & / fray.”

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We are so grateful to every poet who shares their work with us—please enjoy perusing the stunning work in our poetry archive.

“■² opens me up to dine w/ wolves, ■³ is a phlebotomist ■⁴ a carnivorous flower / any further ■’s are ≥ gods”

“our names pierced through the pond’s surface tension / now fortified by the backs of algae.”

“the angel spends / his afternoons, ears pressed to the dirt, cataloging their theologies.”