She found herself outside without understanding how she’d gotten there. In the days after the accident, time had often played tricks on her, morphine sanding off the boundaries between scenes, dumping her into conversations without beginning or end...
The birds began to stir and / at once so whimsical and so lovable, / they became indistinct / and mingled...
Barbers
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In literature, as in life, a problem emerges here, pecking its way out of a tough and fragile shell. This will lead awkwardly or gracefully to the end of the story...
I’d like to sing a new song, but all my carols / sort of sound the same: same names, same awe, / same snow in places where it doesn’t snow / often. My gods all follow the same laws...
to hold home for kindred lovers / massage intimate memories with laughter, / weep and sway to the tremble of spirits’ feet / beating the ground in circles ’round here...
She was a mean love that way; she loved a latched gate, and a dead landlord beneath the steps, and all things of heaven made cold to touch and safe to house...
For the next eight weeks, BP Review will publish a new poem that engages with the idea of power. These poems will collectively highlight the range and journey required to connect to the source, both within ourselves and between one another...
I don’t know how / you’ll feel connected / when the screens and wires go dumb. || No sé cómo te sentirás conectado / cuando las pantallas y cables se entorpezcan...
I should also mention he was holding a gun. A friendly gun. A gun that belonged in a gun show or an old Spaghetti Western. In fact, everyone in the room had a gun.
“We are in peak iguana season,” a trapper says
with a shrug on the evening news as a way
to describe, though not really explain,
how a retiree’s pool attendant in Boca Raton
came to be shot in the calf by a pellet gun...
The old man
told us to spend more time in graveyards and I will
not I will spend more time with the armadillo
because he shows me there is such a thing as un-sad
When you leave this life, this fast and bright
existence in the Mojave, for the swamplands
of home, you can’t help but wonder if the Florida
alligators will eat you alive.
On a hot Thursday morning, deep in month eight of the red tide outbreak, Cicely and Zinnia walked together to Zinnia’s hideout to retrieve a cold bag of placentas.
I feel like I want to apologize for the quality of these postcards. I wish they had been better ones, and that I could have sent you images of sunsets and palm trees and dazzling flamingos.
This language tastes like songs
of my sedo and before, days when land was soft beneath bare feet,
before bombshells bore into ground, before bullet skins showered
seeds in the dust.
who would’ve thought Florida would be so sci-fi
I.N.S. kicking in doors in six cities in Dade
home invading a hard working un invasive species of humans
sending them back to their planets
Famed art deco replaced by fire coral
and colorful parrot fish, neon lights
restored by pulsating swarms of moon
jellyfish, lit up like a Saturday night.