We Lived in a Hug, Shivering with Cold (Translator)
Is the little bird torn apart
by a paw? Lights switch on, at least
one juxtaposition between
Brian Henry
Poetry
Three Poems
The suffering that wrings through our mouths
we mix along the fissures asleep,
drunk like young fathers.
Two Poems
Quarter in hand to see "Raising the Dead"—
But they forget everything, the dead.