A. MOLOTKOV Proper Darkness
I love the darkness in my mouth when it’s closed.
Weekly poems, selected by the editors. Featuring new work as well as poems from our rich archives.
I love the darkness in my mouth when it’s closed.
In the middle / of nowhere, it is just them / & how much they speak
my voice / swaddled me in what I’ve learned to call / refrain
Oh, my fingers would like / to cut down the stars.
a real bird perched on a branch of a glass tree
Love, we are not / brave. We are bodies.
I try not to want // too much.
A mime fell to the floor and pretended he was dead.
by Oliver de la Paz | Contributing Writer
I dreamed I had died / and didn’t tell anybody.