#npm14

My arms have become aging ballet dancers Stiff in their movements But they whisper the specter of a grace that used to be

My mouth is dusty at the corners Unused to the upturned motion of a smile It creaks like the door hinges in our old bedroom

You are such a lovely bride

I have never seen a more lovely confection of taffeta and lace.

This piece of shit doesn’t deserve a heart so pure.

Please don’t misunderstand, this is not a message for you darling girl

This is a message for him:

I am not a vindictive former lover.


Despite the fact that you ripped out my heart and shoved it into an emotional blender with betrayal, insecurity, and a slight case of alcohol dependency, I do not harbor any ill will towards you and the new woman in your life.


I will admit that when I first saw the announcement on Facebook I did go a bit tense. 


I never liked the coffee cup I threw anyways though, so no big deal. 


Anyways I just wanted to wish you two well on this, your happiest of days. 


I wish you the joy of falling a little more in love with her than she is with you.


I hope you become comfortable with that fact.


I pray she is too strong willed to bend to your desired pretzel like shape.


I wish for her to be so strong that instead it is you sitting on the kitchen floor at two am on a Saturday wondering exactly how to change to make her happy to love you.

I want her to be all of the things i wasn’t

For you I would have clipped my own wings But I was never meant to be a caged thing My beauty is not easily displayed under harsh lights And the steel of my spine is too rigid to be graceful.

I fought to be the butterfly on a delicate thread leash But even on my best days I am a pitbull on a heavy chain. I only know how to get what I want by demanding it My mother never schooled me in the ways of a gentle hand.

I never walked well in the high heels you love. My ankles and self esteem were equally weak And both cautious of your errant limbs. Ready to brace myself for the fall

March/April features our suite of surveillance poems by John Ashbery, Robert Pinsky, Cathy Park Hong, Rae Armantrout, Harmony Holiday, and others. In May/June, we have poems by G.C. Waldrep, Dara Weir, and Traci Brimhall, reviews of Brian Teare, Arkadii Dragomoshchenko, Cal Bedient, and others, plus the 2014 "Discovery" poetry contest winners.

"The Eyes" (EP) by S.E. Chaves, from Consanguinity, published by Grow & Grow (2013).

XVII

A boat came

One man holding her sail

Silver beaks rising and crossing.

XVIII

You can amputate

From just above the medulla.

                                  It won't alter the life.

            They never got 'em together again.

XIX

So we sat there,

The old kindly professor and

                                    The stubbly little man:

A short story

            Enititled

      The Birth of a Nation.

XX

Glazed green of the jungle,

Glazed grape,

                       And the crimson in the sunlight

                       Cut by the shadow.

The faceted air—

                        Floating.

XXI

The dry black of night

                                   In the cup of her hand.

            Titania cut in basalt

            The colour in the vein

            Red—

Red in the smoke-faint throat.

XXII

That man sweat blood

And what'd he ever get out of it?

                        The tail of the volpe

                         Fine,

                                 Spreading,

                                           And handsome.

The tail in his hand.

XXIII

By the dynastic temple...

                        We are unknown.

I can remember

              To play on that instrument

              To execute the music

                          Fit for blossoms of apricot.

XXIV

Who was the cause of this evil,

Was beheaded.

                        The Captain began weeping.

                        The night passed.

XV

Be it enacted

             Memory for live men

                        Fading.

They carried the guts before them—

Form without image.

XXVI

Heads covered

               With beads—

Silver cups the wine

                       In scarlet.

XXVII

Stone upon stone

The labours rose

              And wrecked the house of the tyrants.

The labours rose 

              And walked forth

                         Stone above stone.

XVIII

God &

          The Father Eternal

Are coveting

                      The bodies of men.

Dive and flee.

XXIX

The young seek comprehension.

              The mind drifts,

              Drifts bleached

                           And now floated—

                                        An element.

                                        A chaos.

XXX

Pity is the root

                      Seated there are dead eyes,

                      Dead eyes under the crown.

             Under the crown,

                       The King is still young.