their bell-like bodies / push against my screen's blueness // in the recordings all the same, / opening and closing like chests.
In Praise of Anesthesia
I will my alien legs onto the gurney. “You feel something?” asks a nurse, tapping the thin helmet of my belly.
Stay tuned for next week’s memo, in which I’ll highlight name changes on the yellow spectrum.
Translated from Croatian by Vladislav Beronja
Get Our Newsletter
thing of the Woods
I see a story on my family's body, each gnarled branch a collective of punishment.
Q&A with Ama Codjoe, Author of The Bluest Nude
Suffering is non-negotiable, and I am grateful for how poem-making helps me live with and through what is painful and cherish what is joyful. With all of this in mind, I aim to craft poems that have blood in them, that give something to the reader.
homage to hip thrusts
During my workouts I imagine the possibility that my mother and I are almost the same person, the same spirit.
“Nuances” and “Processes”
Translated from Portuguese by Grant Schutzman
Self-Portrait as Shinji Ikari
I behead every body made of metal.
Women’s History Month
I often compare gender to an occupation, because in many ways, it is such labor.