by The Editors | May 1, 2013
You don’t put flowers in poems for decoration, or to fill in empty spaces, but because they punctuated your days at a certain juncture— like the milkweed blooming by the road when I went running...
by The Editors | Apr 23, 2013
Outside my bedroom window, beneath the sound of wind and dry leaves, a shadow called my name–Willie, Willie. No relation to any tree or shrub in the yard, he was a wanderer, friend of the moon. He entered my room...
by The Editors | Apr 16, 2013
The language I want to speak will always save flowers from drowning. It’ll know what bones make up breath, who buries the cadaver of sound. It’ll know the names of all the dead baby birds. The language I want to speak will drop like eyes, like a...
by The Editors | Apr 8, 2013
“My only regret is that I wasn’t born somebody else.” Woody Allen Sorry I’m late, you whisper as you slip into the room with your breath in your fist. Sorry, sorry, I’m sorry you mumble as...
by The Editors | Apr 2, 2013
It begins with labor, what keeps this machine in sync within the larger gears and coils, the 1s and 0s chattering across channels of labyrinthine wires, and those tumblers on what appear to be perfectly shaped lawns...
by The Editors | Mar 20, 2013
Angels Better get your angel on, said Jennifer, her voice lower and more urgent than her usual laid back tone I spent two charmed summers listening to, on the grass, at the beach, the...
