The first great poet of …
Quan Barry
One day we will all be like this—the boat’s sickening pitch, & the delicateness …
Shagged-gold, at rest the great haunches …
Listen closely as I sing this. The man standing at the gate …
Say, when we woke those icy spring mornings they were still there. …
Somebody says draw a map. Populate it with the incidents …
I have come to realize the body is its own pyre, that degree …
Nowhere in the Halakha’s five thousand years of rules …
Literally the thing has been gutted, a ragged gash …
Tonight we will function like women. …