I don’t want to end up an old drag queen. OCTAVIA SAINT LAURENT This is no primrose path, a life lived out of boredom, a role played on occasion. Category is fem-realness—devout in the practice of pulling a fast one on the eye. Octavia, eighth wonder... I wonder, am […]
for A. When I first met him, it was the river, frost on the windows in the morning, olive oil. Then bread and wine, the mountains. Coffee, comfortable chairs. Lights. When […]
Roger Leege started out as a painter, printmaker and analog photographer, earning his MA in Visual Arts from Goddard College. With postgrad study in assorted small computer technologies, his art is now fully-digital, photo-based, and he works primarily in surreal montage on topical social themes and creative […]
Nicolas Poynter recently finished his MFA in creative writing at Oklahoma City University. His work has appeared in North American Review, The Siren, Citron Review, Red Earth Review, Chagrin River Review, Fiction Fix, Gravel and Florida English. He won the 2013 Vuong Short-Story Prize sponsored by the […]
I opened the pineapple for you when you told me of your sister — of barricaded limbs sunk deep into the shoal — of a swiss army knife in the frontal bone — of your feet at the threshold — the limen — wanton tendons sending pain signals across […]
For this issue of TQ, which has called up a theme of the relationship between poets and their physical/geographic wellsprings, I asked Henry Lyman to share some of his work with us, and something of a place I’ve had the recent, if too-brief, opportunity to stay: Fort Juniper, Robert […]
See it. I’ll force you. The baby’s head, dark and bloody, coming from a cave inside me I’ll never see. Bitter dope-smoke in ruined houses. Needles. Unlabeled bottles shared with reeking strangers I’d have run from sober. A knife cuts a long red line inside my thigh. […]
Hundreds of years ago when my body was a canoe on the water, when my mind was green & strident like a young plant accelerating in the light of a new world, I loved a woman. We were together in the urgent heat of the summer. When morning changed […]
Your scapula is a fin, The way it cuts. My palm is snow on a drumlin. The way our bodies fit: Clumsily, like bowls of different proportion. We rattle when the cabinet is shut. Michael Pontacoloni’s poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Barrow Street, Shampoo, Flyway, […]
I saw my faith riding on the light in the ocean one morning when the sound of waves breaking broke me, I knew the weight of what is too much to try to see, each sparkle in the light the infinite space inside the invisible that lives in […]
