“The thing about Christmas, for the longest time, was how Mom always burnt the bacon and how now, no one’s around to do it, so I burn my own.”
“I had to wander Earth without a core.”
“Interstate 410 before eight a.m.”
From our poetry editor.
Mixed materials and mixed emotions.
A poem in a picture.
Opiate of the viewers.
by Alex Z. Salinas I have an irrational fear in the shower when I close my eyes that a shark will burst through the tile wall and devour me whole Perhaps that’s because within the red waters in the chambers of my heart, there lurks a shark with an appetite unceasing till it has swallowed […]
By Alex Z. Salinas I’ve studied Shakespeare and read Hemingway. I’ve marveled at Poe and Hawthorne, Pynchon and Roth, Murakami and King, too. Philip Levine taught me the simple truth, and Pablo Neruda showed me love and despair. Rabindranath Tagore breathed light into my body, and Juan Felipe Herrera turned me on my cabeza. Bukowski? […]
by Alex Z. Salinas I. I remember the promise of the mountains, the alpine summer breeze clearing our pores, the entranced look you gave me on Highway 14 Remember the chip factory next to the hotel? That’s where you would’ve transferred You said all I needed to do was find a job II. I remember […]