Chord

Chord that is your satin purple dress, love’s good synesthesia. / Chord that is your classroom’s chalked board, its elementary figures. More

The Alien Crown

Kings in the capitol lift capital to the light like massive infants. // No commander will ask a pistol to bend / and obey a demand for late bloom,… More

Six Poems by Fred Moten

his hair was like furry lining brushed and see-through and he was pale, his pinkness had a descent in it, like he had warmed down More