July 30, 2015

“Of Thorns,” “Trundle,” “Liquid Assets,” “The Hill Itself”

. . . in that shabby closeness, that’s where whatever it is that saves me is,
where, praise to be something, it waits in briars like Jesus or literature.

July 29, 2015

For so many years I thought of myself as a Kentucky poet, and for many years, I proudly wrote about Kentucky, or at least my small, cave-hollowed corner of it. 

May 29, 2015

A poem from our spring 2015 issue, read by the author.

Days of kalmia, azalea, Blue Ridge. Nights
of steak on the grill, canvas chairs with cupholders,

cans of Stag and Blatz, Schlitz we lift from ice.
The fork in the firepit, stainless steel gone ember orange.

June 23, 2015

As we send our thoughts to the community of Charleston, South Carolina, we remember Marcus Wicker’s tribute to Trayvon Martin—this poem from our Spring 2015 issue. 

April 30, 2015

A poem from our spring 2015 issue.

It’s Derby Day. And it’s been 30 years since 1984 when I stood in the grandstand at Churchill Downs after betting my last $20 on Swale that horse I groomed and watched as he pulled away from Wayne Lukas’s great filly Althea to win the 110th running of the race. Thirty years and a lot of souls have risen to the upper register of life and my own life has been made more reachable by what their love did to me.
April 13, 2015

A poem from our spring 2015 issue.

                                           what it is,


                                          what it ain’t

First thang they cost. And money being green, true that,
all greed contains corn.
               what it is, what

               it ain’t

October 29, 2014

Two poems from the fall 2014 issue.

You used to bite your lips lying there on my couch
receiving my massages 
after long chemistry tutorials 
we were classmates and being-touched 
was how you touched me back

October 29, 2014

Two poems from the fall 2014 issue.

Some things happen only once.
A molar pulled is gone forever,
a thrown spark. The invention 
of the internal combustion engine,
construction of the first public 
sewer system, the rivening blade 
of the axe, the first axe. First flight, 
ice, light, math, birth.

February 19, 2015

A poem from the Texas Music Issue

Townes Van Zandt kissed me on the cheek
after I guarded his guitar.
He had stayed in the bathroom a very long time.
I asked if he needed food 
and he said, I never eat.

April 01, 2015

A poem from our winter 2014 issue.

Like a lark    lift        into moonlight.    Like          the muzzle
of a gun    I      should have raised.      Like NPR.
  Like the joyride           in an elevator               by two teens