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Sometimes it’s seaweed in your throat you can’t cough out / or an ink cloud expanding in your skull

The Lost Pleasures of Abundance

What’s the thin break / inescapable, a sudden thud / on the porch, a phone / vibrating with panic on the nightstand?

Out here, I’m lonely enough to open / my body for anyone that finds me

Spring turns to summer, hopes fly high. A golden romance—in my bloody fists I smell osmanthus flowers. Under the pulped sun, lovers grow young and younger.

After the death of the dictator, his son wanted him embalmed. His son wanted him on perpetual display in a glass box.

There are endless ways to lose your sense of place. A common one goes something like this: You call an Uber to get across town. You track the driver’s arrival on your phone and, once in the car, answer texts and watch a video on YouTube...

The last US service member to leave Afghanistan’s soil after nearly twenty years of war did so just a minute shy of the midnight deadline on August 30. The gruesome chaos that unfolded in the days leading up to that departure, after the...

English is a treasure trove of words, each with a precise meaning. It is also a source of confusion and frustration, since so many of those words have subtle connotations and refuse to stand still.