By Mark J. Mitchell For Lyle Grosjean and those of us who walk None shall kill when all are completed. —Kenneth Patchen Our boots— brown, heavy and clunky as gray cinderblocks— can rest at the backs of our cluttered closets unless bright wild flower hills call us by name. The green room— [...]
By Mark J. Mitchell For Ruth Hulbert In the dream you’re vulnerable— small, twisted on yourself—a fetus waiting for limbs to awake to their diversity, still unsure of your transgender. As yet, you have no sense of entitlement, just a fear, unnamed, somehow science based. It’s cold where you dream. Evidence is based on [...]
By Mark J. Mitchell I’m guided by the beauty of our weapons. —"First We Take Manhattan" I’m battered by the blindness of our weapons. Boys stare at screens and tickle switches. Death drops from the sky onto archaic altars. Isaac screams. Ishmael burns. Rachel weeps for her children. From the empty office, ritual words: [...]
