By Linda Wojtowick
At Sunday barbecue she sees him he fetching chairs
for the pastel dames in the shade. What a saint, she thinks.
He’s always been a baby-kisser. Shorthand for glazed.
By Linda Wojtowick
At Sunday barbecue she sees him he fetching chairs
for the pastel dames in the shade. What a saint, she thinks.
He’s always been a baby-kisser. Shorthand for glazed.
By Linda Wojtowick
It’s an old story: everything was coming new. Layers on layers of new. New neighborhoods gridding out like dead stars. At new airports tequila was green, snacks vacuum-packed.
By Linda Wojtowick
It’s like when someone fills a basket. It looks
good. It looks like the right thing. But that’s
how it happens. You won’t know the road.
Sometimes the largest fillers are the emptiest men.
Your Impossible Voice #31 finds the doomsday clock ticking twenty days from the apocalypse. It’s chock-full of liars, the lost, and the lonely floating in fog and hungry for cake, eggs, and kink. All that plus Allen Ginsberg, Frida Kahlo, and a magnificent tower of giraffes.
Featuring work by Joshua Escobar, Adelheid Duvanel (translated by Tyler Schroeder), Tanya Žilinskas, Sumitra Singam, Jean-Luc Raharimanana (translated by Tom Tulloh), Arlene Tribbia, Addison Zeller, Mehdi M. Kashani, Katherine Elizabeth Seltzer, Jane Snyder, Charles O. Smith, Taro Williams, Joanna Theiss, Kirsten Kaschock, Gerónimo Sarmiento Cruz, Steve Castro, Linda Wojtowick, and Ann Pedone.