unreliable narrator
artificial intelligence
finch in the road
hurriedly pecking
red umbrellas
artificial intelligence
finch in the road
hurriedly pecking
red umbrellas
Jerome Berglund
common core
The textbook market is looking decidedly bullish.
needlework
midge bites cover
my aunt
Jerome Berglund
Poem
flesh, farewell! olive-fed wagyu
Jerome Berglund
Poem
mosquito buzz a remix album of mother’s nagging
Martina Matijević
Poem
emily and i
nobodys we
barred
but
doing shots
of Absolutest
nobodys we
barred
but
doing shots
of Absolutest
Millicent Bee
ARCHILOCHUS COLUBRIS
Hockney’s
A Bigger Splash
A Bigger Splash
– sorta –
the unseen’s
disruption
but fuchsia
Millicent Bee
Poem
how dull
the clarity
of brine shrimp
to a heart
set on
Sea Monkeys
the clarity
of brine shrimp
to a heart
set on
Sea Monkeys
Millicent Bee
from The Surface World
Who shot the Alabama kid? Gunshow cock robin yields to lore. That’s not enough anymore. Chicago on the horizon. Invasions are everywhere. The mesquite trees are winning. It is time of year when the weather can’t settle – right before the assault of the histamines – painted by Nicolas Poussin. Something to look forward to at the bus stop or in the graveyard. I am told we are winning the war.
Seth Copeland
from The Surface World
If I try to write about now, will now try to kill me ;?: Hush you. There’s always more to endure. Lindsey chases a spring around his perfect universe in the apartment. Germs say similar things about us to each other.
What survives of the moment must be true to what people were really feeling. This is not boundary stele – bas relief of the smitten Hyksos. Let it be known the people wanted bread.
Stevie runs by stalking something on the floor. Their night is not our fight. They will wake to the same world.
Seth Copeland
from The Surface World
St. Patrick’s Day or I am always reborn in Dublin
Read old poets right old poems. That’s the way of it. When I was a baby bard, I tried out Romantic phrases w/ anon and blithe & wrenched wretched syntax. Goofy shit, but no practice is wasted. Rumi is still telling us to take off the mask, ol’ Bill Billiams the doctor man must always tell us the young sycamore, on & on like famine & war, and the teams head brass and that goddamned yellow square of charlock narrowed and narrowed. Mohamad Mossadegh sleeps in his living room on the isle of Avalon. Sunday night’s blizzard is already drifts eaten away. Some of it doesn’t stay. And then it will again.
Seth Copeland
the other bunny 