mixed messages in this rush in this cascade of hours of service locked onto weary it appears the bombs dropped yesterday were a mistake &...

Voice Moon-numb, tone lonely, blinking dust again. . . Start by clearing your throat, wiping that smirk off the mirror. You’re too old...

ripples confusion torn quiet poppy in field Artist's Statement I was born in Birmingham, Alabama in 1966. At the age of seven, I knew I...

Poverty of the Age 1. A few coins surprised me, there on the street, And as I paused, from the opposing house I saw a lamp lit In an...

Volume 3 Number 3 08.01.2022 too cool for school What is such transcendence doing in a serenade? Editor's Notes Headlines - Kenneth Rosen...

Everything must be carried to term before it is born. To let every impression and the germ of every feeling come to completion inside, in...

SLEEPING BEAUTY AND A WASTE OF SHAME I’ve been thinking all day about Shakespeare’s phrase, in Sonnet 129, “a waste of shame,” especially...

Free If you don’t need money and you don’t need fame, then you’re free. - Dana Carvey When I didn’t have money I told myself I didn’t...

The following interview with Sebastian Matthews was probably the most enjoyable of any I have done for Hole in the Head Review....

Strategy for Discovering the Blessed World Make a dance of everything, shake each stillness nested in the hands like diseased birds....

Elegy For the Boys of the B-24 Liberator Uncles who never cried uncle, flew bomber planes at eighteen, nineteen, twenty, deafened, shot...

In It for the Carpentry I thought I saw a goldfinch pluck a lie from an evangelical’s mouth. Perhaps, like the 17 year brood X cicadas,...

Learning to Fly After the rape, I took up with a paraplegic guy who said he’d gotten high and jumped off a building, thinking he could...

After Nineteen Months of Separation for my son I. Sandhills stroll the marsh, rise into steep sky. Squawks, knife on rock, swell, spar—...

Failed to Forget Ought to stop. I ought to stop and stand in the memorial garden. Stop and stand, cease my yammer for five minutes. Stand...

How to live in a world filled with the world. Each year, nine now, new leaves return to this volunteer Japanese maple that took root in...

My Father Shows Me How To Say No In a shallow drawer, as if on a grid: paper clips, rubber bands, mechanical pencils, a cylinder of lead,...

What Else Could We Do What else could we do, the parents you eschewed at 18, when you came back, scared and sick, at the proverbial...

Smokestacks after Rachel McKibbens Resilience is a callous on the balls of my mother’s feet. There she goes walking through small stone...