A week after the fourth of July, my dog Speedy nipped an eight-year old kid who wandered onto my property from the subdivision across the way. Speedy was a Shepherd-Husky mix and normally pretty docile, so I thought the kid must have been teasing him, asking for it somehow. The kid went home and cried to his parents, then his father came over and said he’d called the police. He was about a foot shorter than me, and had a litigant’s righteous air. But, either he was bullshitting, or the police forgot to come, because that was the last I heard about it.
noun / the inability to remove a person from one’s / thoughts, most often accompanied by a kind of / vibration in the chest similar to the flickering light / of fireflies over a summer meadow or minnows in / a shallow pool; their silver dartings.
I arrived early at the Church of St. Mary at Westminster College to get my music together and try the piano. It was late April in Fulton, Missouri, cold and damp, and the morning haze set the church in a sort of numinous relief against the pervading Midwestern gray. I leaned against the large wooden door, stepped inside, and shook off the chill.
But I did saw it, and that’s me. I’m seeing all kinds of things these days. You know, The Muffin Man, for example. Saw The Muffin Man yesterday, at the car wash.
Last spring, GMR celebrated its first twenty-five years with a 400-page poetry retrospective compiled by Founding Editor Neil Shepard. This was also Neil's last issue before stepping down as Senior Editor. To read through this anniversary issue is to marvel at the...
All the parts are in the right places, and they hum industriously as you make your way from page to page.
I’m the green bird staring at your naked morning ass through the window. I think I want to learn Japanese. It’ll help me understand this scenario. I want to learn more about recycling. Then I’ll learn even more about the value of useless things.
Poetry had the feeling that they’d always been holding hands, that they sometimes forgot. Prose had the feeling that when they forgot they forgot on purpose. These feelings they had, they had them, then they had some others.
He stood outside the fitness center and watched the women work out in gym suits and leotards that reminded him of sitcoms from the Seventies. There were many fitness centers in the city where he sometimes worked, but this was the one he stopped at. He watched the men,...
Julie Choffel’s The Hello Delay reads very much like “a cautionary tale” for our current age, one that both warns against and seeks out the anxiety that comes with living in the year 2012.