Nightmare: Semantic Dementia
by Ryan Vine

My favorites were the first to go: verisimilitude, Constantinople, crickets. Then went, plucked from me, words I rarely needed; but they were beautiful, nonetheless: retribution, car port, fairgrounds. In my chair at night, an open book splayed, they jumped from me like sparks; they floated like orange embers across the yard; they lifted like burned … Continue reading Nightmare: Semantic Dementia
by Ryan Vine

To the Girl Stranded by the Side Doors of Denfeld High School at 9:52 on a Monday Night Forgotten by Her Mother but Found and Accompanied by the Blue-Overalled Janitor
by Ryan Vine

I used to think that you could choose /
your family; that what they did /
made no difference; that you could find /
some new mother or father, someone /
who’d gladly take you in, bruised /
as a ball, weird as a rubber tack, pain-
ridden as you are, but I was wrong.

The Dogs of Duluth Bark Sometimes Until the Sun Lifts the Dark Sky’s Skirt
by Ryan Vine

And now we rise and we are everywhere. —Nick Drake Right now in your neighborhood there’s at least one car creeping, pushed through your cramped streets like a clot, in which sit four maybe five boys—most of them high— two of them drunk— who are angry at having to be alive. Sometimes they turn their … Continue reading The Dogs of Duluth Bark Sometimes Until the Sun Lifts the Dark Sky’s Skirt
by Ryan Vine