Alessandra Lynch

Going

March 27, 2020

from NER 41.1 (2020)
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Going now to dark, going now to write in the dark
love-cabinet. The red fish like a stuffed glove on the desk,
going out of gray all the time, gray seeping back. I like Beckett
when he scoffs white and black. Going in out of light in out
of my undercover love.

Mehrnoosh Torbatnejad

Bruise

January 17, 2020

Poetry from NER 40.4 (2019)
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“Rockflow1” by Jeffrey Skinner

For purplish blue-gray, we compress the three words

into a single kabood—for the sake of time, I imagine,

though what we boast in linguistic convenience

we lose to limited use, as in, we would never say the lavender

fields in the pale distance are kabood . . .

Dean Rader

Troubled by Thoughts About Infinity and Oblivion, I Exit the Twombly Retrospective at Dusk and Walk the High Line with the Ghost of My Father

January 14, 2020

Poetry from NER 40.4 (2019)

Courtesy Archives Fondazione Nicola Del Roscio Photo: Mimmo Capone Untitled, 1970. Oil paint, wax crayon. 27 3/4 x 39 3/8 inches Collection Cy Twombly Foundation. © Cy Twombly Foundation

This evening, the unknown waves

its wand, and a beam of light disappears

into the sky’s black hat.

The moon has never known its true home.

The stars do not remember when they began their journey.

Out of that forgetting,

they begin their own making.

Just like us.

Soon the sun will take off its cape,

and open a door to a place that is not there.

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Jakob Maier

Tired of Regular Apples

January 10, 2020

Poetry from NER 40.4

What do I do with the hours of my life

Not even the fresh produce section

can save me. Not even the ugly rows

of dirt between the trees. Not even

arriving fifteen minutes early to a movie,

or fifteen minutes late, or right on time.

Not even leaving my friend’s house

after we sing . . .

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