Gulf Coast Online Exclusives


3 Poems

We're not here yet, and still the key aches in the lock. I am leaving, and it's as if I was returning


Poetry, Fiction, & Nonfiction   

A Door, Prone, Crushing a Field of Flowers

I am at my threshold. / The dirt of our daughter. / The mole of her squirming body.

4 Poems

Before I am beautiful I'm in the hairdresser’s chair, / perched atop two phone books, holding my ear. My reflection / in the bathroom mirror is a landscape painting.

2 Poems

blame grows small in the moth’s circling / day to day the slightest tooth loosens / a landscape changes until returning by habit

Voyage: Happening in an Egg

Why did he shape my brother’s body to the contours of war? Is this the shape of all our language already?

From the Archives

Rick Has Died

The buildings were rundown and whatever light came from them was like the leftover glow of an all-night party. Tonight, those same lights were electrified, lit up along the grid.

Duplicate of Matters of Consequence

The other day I received my first offer for term life insurance (how are corporations so prescient?), which has the effect of reminding a man he’s going to die, just as a baby has the effect of reminding a man that if he dies, it shouldn’t be for nothing.

Seasonal Without Spring: Summer

Was that season artery or vein? when the days stretched like Broadway, & the nights undid our shirts – the temperature so slight you could raise your arms in flight & feel nothing, the body as air. But there was also the need for hurt. And dusk: a ghost of a boy tempted to feel his weight, to put his palm to the depth, touch the pupil, the dead turbine of god’s one good cataracted eye.

Little Relics

& after the first course, your corsage flatlines Beautiful convulsions Then, it sprouts wings, thorns, claws its way up your arm to swallow you goosebump by goosebump

From the Blog

MASS CULTURE AND THE AMERICAN POET:
THE POEM AS VACCINATION

I once drove around southwest Arizona with a photographer named Pedro, from Mexico City. His specialty was making ethnographic forays into North America,…

Travels with Steve, and Good Writing

My old friend and former teacher Steve Orlen and I walked many miles together along the wide avenues of Tucson, Arizona. Our promenades usually took place…