Thursday, July 31, 2025
Wednesday, July 30, 2025
ARVIND KRISHNA MEHROTRA ~ "Small Holdings" ~
Tuesday, July 29, 2025
Monday, July 28, 2025
DICTEE ~
Tanam Press
First Third Woman Press
University of California Press
1982, 1995, 2001, 2009, 2022
Sunday, July 27, 2025
MICHAEL OCHS ~
Michael Ochs, right, with his brother Phil, the protest singer, in 1968 in Mill Valley, Calif. For a time, Michael served as Phil’s manager. Credit...Alice Ochs/Michael Ochs Archives, via Getty Images
Top Collector of Rock ’n’ Roll Photos, Dies at 82
DAVID GIANNINI ~
Something Else
Losing a good-luck charm does not mean losing
good luck or that bad luck will occur more
frequently. That is why Husband looked into
the pickle jar, with its lone occupant. Husband
thought that if he could remove the lid, after
years of having the jar tightly sealed away
in the dark, good luck might befall him in a
charming, if not charmed, way.
"My view is kind of difficult to explain," said
Husband to Wife.
"It's a belief, that's why," said Wife. Good luck
with it.
Husband and Wife stood in the root cellar as
Husband held the pickle-in-its-jar to the dim
light of a 20-watt bulb.
"I believe the pickle is still in there, dear," said
Husband.
"Yes, I believe he's there, too," said Wife,
"though the jar is so cloudy."
"Let's call him Something Else," said Husband.
"That won't change the fact that he's still our
pickle in the clouds," said Wife.
"No, I suppose not," said Husband, and he
placed the boy-in-the-brine back on the shelf,
and turned out the light.
–––––––––––––––––––––––––
David Giannini
Porous Borders
Spuyten Duyvil, 2017
Saturday, July 26, 2025
Friday, July 25, 2025
Thursday, July 24, 2025
Wednesday, July 23, 2025
Tuesday, July 22, 2025
Monday, July 21, 2025
JOHN PHILLIPS CONCRETE ~
from CONCRETE
___________________________
TELL
The story
begins
where
words end
theirs
THIS
What you do with
your silence
is up to you
What I do with mine
is this
CONCRETE
My voice is
but I don't know what my voice is
Other voices come in I try to
let them speak
but I don't
know where from
I make them up
Sometimes they're people on the street
sometimes people I know
Voices are concrete
SIDETRACKED
Thinking
what I'm
reading
as I'm
writing it
________________________
John Phillips
Concrete
The Bodily Press, 2025
Sunday, July 20, 2025
Saturday, July 19, 2025
Friday, July 18, 2025
STEVEN ESPADA DAWSON ~
Elegy for the Four Chambers of my Heart
I'm always looking for a mirror
with a family inside it.
If a mirror breaks which shard
is the family?
There are so many
ways to hold yourself
hostage I'm still learning
to love
my captor.
When You Tell Me You've Grown Afraid
of the dark, it busts every lit bulb
inside me. Please —
put a flashlight in my mouth, Mom.
I will thin
my cheeks for you.
Let me light the way.
A River Is A Body Running
The first time I found my brother
overdosed, he looked holy. A thing
not to be touched. Yellow halo of last
night's dinner. His skin, blanched blue
fresco. Patron Saint of Smack. A cop,
flustered tugged up his shorts, plunged
a needle into a pale thigh. He hissed
awake like a soda can. The paramedic
spoke softly in his ear like a lover,
asked him what color yellow and red
make. What is the difference between
a lake and a river? In the corner
I whittle that used syringe into
an instrument only I can play.
Elegy for the Four Chambers of My Mother's Heart
This is an elegy and believe me, it will end
within the small walls of your townhome.
And because I am selfish it ends with your
words and a memory of just you and me
standing above your kitchen sink, pouring
water into an ice cube tray. You tell me
to watch as the water fills up one corner,
then overflows into every empty square.
This, you say, this is how I love you.
_______________________________
Steven Espada Dawson
Late to the Search Party
Scribner 2025