Poetry A poetry series edited by Tommy Pico

Blood Moon

She is determined to follow the smoke—a hymn / for what’s gone missing.

Jan 12, 2021
I Must Become a Menace to My Enemies

if you believe me to be your enemy know this I accept

Jan 05, 2021
First Nude

How to put this: I’m alive.

Dec 14, 2020
Choose Your Quarantine House (I – IV)

under the dark sitting pretty / on the patch of hardwood floor / where confession / and callousness meet

Dec 02, 2020
Reimagining Light

The water flows through hollow bones and returns / as a song. It sounds familiar in the beginning / Then always changes.

Nov 02, 2020
Corrective State

The people behind bars are captives of war / The people stolen into camps and cages / speak it plain

Shivering in the Summertime

some days my own womb shivers at the thought of / my black ass children being thrown / against any wall

Oct 19, 2020
the faggotry

the ones you call those frickin’ Ayrabs, the ones / who hold hands with / kiss cheeks with those they call / habibi & isn’t every habibi is a mis/-translation of? habibi

Oct 14, 2020
Love Me A Man Who Cries

I claw / against the syrup to love other men / for whom, bless them, a bird is just / a bird.

Dark Blue

turn me into a place like home to you. / Say my name like the stars and / Let’s go out tonight.

Sep 23, 2020
in & out of jean shorts (the reel catches)

I wish for sex out / in the open, to have / some strange body / glide over mine, to collide / as if to butterfly / underwater required not one / but two sets of salty / chests & jutting / calves

Sep 08, 2020
Is This Your Sky or Mine?

The body just births more questions and that’s my future.

Aug 26, 2020
I’m not like you

and don’t you ever forget / it takes practice to access what you demolished / when you see us / you feel something for the first time

Aug 18, 2020
No Beast, Don’t Bend

I am a body surrendered fully to nature, captured in this house, left sitting on haunches in corners under blankets.

Great Canadian Novel

As if a country was not an ever-tightening feeling in my chest. As if poetry was not an ever-tightening.

On the occasion that i die before i’m thirty,

there must be no mention of my migration or bravery; / if anyone reads poetry, let it only be an ode to green-tea donuts

Jul 07, 2020
and though the odds say improbable

they ain’t superhuman. ain’t always able / to save the children the men the country or even your silk presses / but whatever they touch. somebody’s good god blesses.

Jul 01, 2020

I don’t think you thought you’d appear / in my poem but here you are

Jun 22, 2020
For My Friends, in Reply to a Question

I don’t know if I’ll ever go home again. I don’t know who I’ve seen for the last time.

Jun 22, 2020