poetry
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“The Sausage Master of Minsk” by August Kleinzahler
I was sausage master of Minsk; young girls brought parsley to my shop and watched as I ground coriander, garlic and calves’ hearts. At harvest time they’d come with sheaves: hags in babushkas, girls plump as quail, wrapped in bright tunics, switching the flanks of oxen. Each to the other, beast and woman, goggle-eyed at…
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Your necklace sure is SOMETHING, Dick!
.”porary ok.”narration”ation is the wodrk tvhe manu factual wrok.”cturing of the ork ation”ati ual w VvidaD Ssheed “Conte8mmmporary narration is the account of tvhe manufacturing of the wodrk, not the actual wrok.” Daivd Shiiedelds “Contemporary narration is the accsjrount of the manufacthuring of the work, not the actaul work.” David Shiieelds “Conttjemporary narration is the account of…
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Essential Watching for the Poet: ‘Polis is This: Charles Olson and the Persistence of Place’
Purchase the full documentary from Ferrini Productions.
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Writing Advice: “Eschew rationality, meaning and ‘good taste’.”
If you find yourself unable to write, don’t write. Play with your words. Here’s a great unplanted seed for a writing exercise: Go to your favorite website and find an article that contains a not negligible amount of text. Highlight a paragraph and the copy it to your clipboard. I’ll do this with you. I’m…
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Have you ever heard of Piero Manzoni?
Oh, honey… Who can deprive a word of its meaning? Do you claim the words when you arrange them? Do you borrow them? Lease them? Leash them? How do you own them, particularly? Have you ever heard of Piero Manzoni? You are a vector. That’s all. I am a vector, too. The second you say…
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Packing List
a brazilian mountain top bonnie parker’s three-headed snake ring a large black shirt and a medium grey shirt because i don’t know how big i am anymore
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“What Rings But Can’t Be Answered” by Rebecca Lindenberg
You are beautiful as a telephone, colors of bone, rocket ship, and cocktail lounge— Hmm, says the neon sign, starting an unfinishable thought. Where do we go from here? I’m a balloon, each minute you don’t call is a breath you blow into me. I want to be the crackers in your soup, I want…
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