making small talk with other mothers and feeling / worn out and hollowed / among the rows of expensive strollers my inner tape deck ticking / I want to be rich I want to be rich I want to be…
Founded in 1977 at Columbia University's School of the Arts
making small talk with other mothers and feeling / worn out and hollowed / among the rows of expensive strollers my inner tape deck ticking / I want to be rich I want to be rich I want to be…
This gift God granted/Adam, his ability to gaze into a body,/to give it a name. To give the husk of/a thing meaning.
“We are the sacred book that/nobody reads.”
I prefer you / yes, / but I’d settle for / a likeness instead.
If my body is a field of light, / when the time comes, it will contract to a pinprick. / I will / shatter and glow.
Poet Ed Bok Lee discusses the role of family, evolution, and trauma in his newest collection, “Mitochondrial Night.”
Death like a double dipped dome cone / a sunny Sunday I swam into your mirrored glasses, / orange rims like a safety cone.
Even the teensiest of curtsies / will make your shadow go away.
I regret my dreaming, its final actor.
This is your teacher-creature speaking.
Moved by beautiful images, like they’re powerful dreams / in search of the healing energy
The mountains loom / Large like questions / About poverty.
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