Say “home”—but never namethe village of your birth,ancestors purgedfrom its silent orchards. Say “once”—but not that......

After Amal Al Sahlawi Do not ask me to washmy skin of this dust, this gold,this......

Wrenched from sleepin sweat-stained sheets,hair unspooling a messof ribboned dreams— how cliché to writeof restless nights,heart......

Their skins have never touched.This I know.But on his lips, I taste honeyof a dark forest’s......

father shatters the mirror to show the lad again fatherfather rememorates the glass no man can......

i alwaysremember thefirst time i mistookthe dulcet desire for daringdevotion—the steamy ways handstangled in half-lit rooms......

it transpires with a honkthat shatters terra’s atmospherea mute swan sundering through gravity’s larynxlike a winged......

Why do I love the work of László Krasznahorkai? Because he challenges every part of my......