I pen misery with dark black ink that I draw from a hole inside of my chest

The Mando, having more pressing matters To protect the kid, no bounty, no task ordained To him. He loves its cooing, its soft forehead, Appealing spell cast by the marveled eyes.

The Instagram account for Escapril posts all 30 prompts for the month ahead of time, and the poet is only required to write by taking inspiration from said prompts

An unwarranted guide, tormented pride, a sheep inside of a wolf’s hide.

Remembering Dutch Post-Impressionist painter Vincent Willem van Gogh on his 170th birth anniversary–March 30, 1853.

But in this lifetime, we'll never know what we could've become.

For hope is when I dream those dreams I dared not dream.

I used to wear my minutes as accessories and now the minutes wear me.

That evening, a blade sliced through string, through skin, red on red on red. Kutta, the man in khaki says. It is only later I realize it is me he is calling dog. Dog. Dog.

Using a Fulbright fellowship, Tarfia decided to come to Bangladesh to research the war and interview the women whom the Bangladesh government, in 1972, titled Birangona (war heroines). These interviews resulted in 'Seam' (Southern Illinois University Press, 2014).

“Eat, My darling, or else your goulash will become cold”

Great Man, now that you are dead, allow me to squeeze your hand. The sage bushes in Umbria are heavy with bees, so I’m killing them with hypnosis.

I see flicker the auroras of Jupiter.

Does the crowd bother you?

For the lesser the days, the weaker the youth

Come, if you may, with swords or guns. Remember, I won’t cry and run; I will rise from the depths of the land.

Possibilities that are small enough to be held in the clammy palms of a toddler.

It’s never the things that matter.

The only thing that disregards - Is that you won’t be there to

Welcome to the Carnival of Dreams and Memories