On:

MANUS Needlework in Letterpress Ps Smithereened glass.Scalp. Gore And Qs. Footprints muck-upOn P.E. kit. Stockpiled bales. Sill. LUKE Lady Penelope Viscous feed Suitcase vacuumed.Bobs arm. Into jardinière. Passport thumbed.Sputnik chair Gust throughRustles. Unfastened sash. HERBERT Heroism inked. Pyramid of Foozled call.Vainglory in. Tins. Customer Sudoku puzzle.Speech bubbles. Directions. ALBERTINE PoodleContinue Reading

On:

An Evocation of Elizabethan Drama We look in the world’s eyeto ask if we are so wise now.When all is not well words dare not failto be the questions that answer allthe world will ask of doubt and shame.Our will is articulatein finding the meaningof a balance of possibilities.We winceContinue Reading

On:

Your gaze speaksto my own deep iceNot sentimentmore elementalunsettling Perhaps we metin a sculptor’s studioHe shaped my shoulders, necklabored on my breastsYou watchedenigma eyes insetbeard unchiseled How long did we stare?Were we modeledfor common patronsbut cast as amorousgods, to please–my arms, AphroditeAres, your brow Surely we restedin velvet dirt, yourContinue Reading

On:

Roger Camp is the author of three photography books including the award winning Butterflies in Flight, Thames & Hudson, 2002 and Heat, Charta, Milano, 2008. His work has appeared in numerous journals including The New England Review, Witness and the New York Quarterly. Represented by the Robin Rice Gallery, NYC,Continue Reading

On:

An Evocation of Herman Melville I seek to speak all I knowof my life at close quartersin the ocean’s experience,having sailed its heartless swell,its dark night of the deepseven in the sight of landand there the peaceable bounty. My flesh is frost-witheredin cheerless chill deadening.I feel my heart’s hungerthat eatsContinue Reading

On:

Mostly my neckjust always hurtsthey’re heavynever still or asleep at onceI rarely sleep myself I feed them cat foodsometimes micethe pet store girl is kindlooks at our shadowwants to know their namesthat they smell deadwhen frighteneddefecate in my braincausing dark thoughtsMy children were takenI’ve never mothereddon’t remember my owntrauma interferesContinue Reading

On:

Stone vats of colored dyes and white liquids.Hides of cows, sheep, goats, and camels.The eager salesman explained the process,how hides need to soak for two or three daysamong cow urine and pigeon fecesto clean and soften the skins for the dyes,natural colorants like indigoand henna and poppy. Then they areContinue Reading

On:

Little brass welt how dare you try to mock meWe’ve come farther in one thousand & oneNights than any blue-eyed continental explorerI should shove you in a junk drawer & lose youFor letting in the nameless men of the palaceWho have become accustomed to measuringThis cursed room for their nextContinue Reading

On:

The process of this tattoo-makingrequires a steady hand, unshaking,so a continuous line can be laiddown by the needle’s glass blade. Precisely like a surgeon’s scalpel,but above the skin,this moving line will beginalmost feeling palpable of the practitioner’s art:she, who draws from imaginationand an experienced hearta unique creation. The brown dyeContinue Reading