Congratulations to P&L's nominees for Best New Poets 2019!
windows throb like human organs: blue heart, / maroon brain, gold spleen
The wind blows snow across / her cheek, like stinging sand / a crystal burning.
Is it finally fair to say like gods / we make images to pour ourselves into?
If you’re not-Mormon, it’s impossible not to be aware of being not-Mormon. You learn about the Mormons, in order to be not-Mormon, and in order to not be tempted into being married to a Mormon.
My sister casts buttons through / her window—they shadow / / like pills into small ponds / of late winter ice.
like a book left open in the rain; pages wrinkle, / rip and fall before their ambiguities are read.
In the freezing season, the lacerated places breed / / bright ice in matrices and lattices, glittering, / highballing.
I see men as trees, walking. If men were trees, if our cities were forests, our towns dense groves, what kind of world would we then make?