Category: Entertainment
-

Ruined Pears
“and then be reckless, be reckless, and resolved in returning gratitude.” Gertrude Stein There is a cool cup in my hand held out to you a patent of pears and of ripe, green forgiveness which I must only hope you will drink down, a down comforter for all the sleep that I have cost…
-

Sugar Rations
Why would you ration out your love as though it were rare packets of sugar in wartime, brown paper squares wrapped in string, passing hands with paucity and a whisper or glance, stored safely in a cellar by a large brass key, rather than a fresh stream cascading down the mountainside in little pools and…
-

Fix A.I. Art — a petition
If we can teach college freshman to cite their sources, why can’t we fix A.I. art generators so that they do the same? The way that creators of A.I. art generators and the way that artists both talk about A.I. art generators is wrong. And the proof emerges in calculators. Does a calculator own the…
-

Pádraig Ó Tuama Holds Me in the Bed of the Poem
Pádraig Ó Tuama tells me the person is prayed into being by the direction of the light. At least, I think he says this, but I’m distracted by the soft breath of H that he pushes out from the click of his tongue while we bake scones in the house of the poem, while we…
-

Borrowed Time
Come sit with me, granddaughter of mine. I want to tell you a story about when I was a young man living in Connecticut in the fifties. As all good stories start, this one begins with once upon a time, but really, it was once upon two times. When I was in my twenties, television…
-

Experiments in Time and Place
I wake up as a hair. I wake up as a tree frog. I wake up as a vintage postcard. I wake up as underpants. My waistband is too tight for her—I dig into her hips. I sit in the washing machine all day and all night. I prefer being on than being off.…
-

The Year We Became Stars
The satellite photos of cities at night let us believe human hubs are neurons – firing, sparking, all the lights melting into a honey broth the way people won’t quite flow into a solution, suspended equally as walls dissolve. From far away the seaboard bleeds, pumping. Can astronauts hear our whoosh, stethoscopes pressed…




