Poetry

The bunting looks emaciated, hanging there with stars above and stripes dangling. Two desks leer across a gap too wide for puberty to negotiate. Through the open door we spot feet atop one

I played the boy Christ who received royal gifts from three magi. I posed as the son of a shepherd, quaking in angelic spotlight. The cold air cradled me. I waited for the

Over the last few years your days have been filled with tumultuousness; random accidents, you claim. To me, seemingly unforgiveable, made fouler by the dark mead of disillusion. What was I supposed to

a storm-drummed dock, tongue-swirled scotch, the sea’s salted singe make a clean bed in a white room on a bright hall recede to the point where lightning and horizon crash.

Jabari Parker Heeds N.B. A.’s Call, Bypassing Formal Mormon Mission ‑NYT Headline, 6/25/14 Six feet, eight inches of Sweet Jesus dribbled into your home in living color, a hallelujah