American Culture · American Literature · Classic · Collection · Contemporary · Poetry · Prose Poetry

Aaron Shurin

Transfixed to the, by the, on the congruities, who is herself a vanishing point coming to closure — dusky flutter — trilling away like a watchdog on drugged sop, channeling her mother and grandmother who’ve engraved on her locket phrases in script: “glide on a blade” and “rustling precedes the shuck.” This is not my… Continue reading Aaron Shurin

Rate this:

Anthology · Classic · Collection · Excerpt · French Culture · French Literature · Passage · Poetry · Prose Poetry · Surrealism

André Breton

When the windows like the jackal’s eye and desire pierce the dawn, silken windlasses lift me up to suburban footbridges. I summon a girl who is dreaming in the little gilded house; she meets me on the piles of black moss and offers me her lips which are stones in the rapid river depths. Veiled… Continue reading André Breton

Rate this:

American Culture · American Literature · Anthology · Contemporary · Online Journal · Periodical · Poetry · Prose Poetry

Nin Andrews

My Aphrodisiac Now that you are gone, I want to tell you, you are wrong. About everything. Consider perspective as a case in point. You loved to inform me that far-away things appear smaller. I am here to tell you that distant things grow bigger. Missing objects are the largest of all. Their shadows can… Continue reading Nin Andrews

Rate this:

Classic · Collection · Excerpt · French Culture · French Literature · Passage · Poetry · Prose Poetry · Surrealism

André Breton

I’m telling you, you are in your fate, tied to the flawed pink diamond, the woman’s knee resting where, to her astonishment, the admirable flounce of foam breaks again. You have hands for losing what you haven’t found. You’re motionless, chained to the cold rock above the cliff, at the climax of the whole tragedy… Continue reading André Breton

Rate this:

American Culture · American Literature · Contemporary · Online Anthology · Online Magazine · Periodical · Poetry · Prose Poetry

Alexandra Mattraw

When we reach the summit, you tell of repetition. The way an orange unpeels itself in such heat. : All bruised skin wants to give way in the manner of water. We stop field center, but the green world sweats, thickens like hair. Each pasture clots a day’s naming. We share corner store bread :… Continue reading Alexandra Mattraw

Rate this: