Nassau Weekly

Arts

  • Hang Up

    Hang Up

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    And imagine my heel a hook around your ear – my other against your chest, the rest of my leg singing. Stay there, crush ripping hair from the bud, the best part thrash: from the shove. or the bouncy ball – this is the sliver, you are the nail. Muck mud. There is no hammer…

  • Narcissus

    Narcissus

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    Jakob’s eyes were a prison for my soul. They were tragically beautiful. They were beautifully tragic. There was sadness there, and a wise weariness of the world, and yet somehow a glint of hope. His eyes nearly broke my heart. A sapphire ocean, sweeping me away in a shimmering riptide of tears and fluttering lashes.

  • The End of the Hanging Basket

    The End of the Hanging Basket

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    “Mr. Stone was commissioned by the mayor of London to design a “dry garden” of plants and flowers that use less water because England, widely associated with drizzle, is actually drying up.” “LONDON IS SO DRY,” Wall Street Journal, July 2006 I Like a noon time drunkard one day they drank too much. Even the…

  • Lightning Can Mean Everything

    Lightning Can Mean Everything

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    There is a stop light in front of Weston Autobody; in evening the autoshop light sears mechanics. Some stand – columns – and hold cars with outstretched fingers. One hangs like a bodied hammock another is a bowed branch. The light colors them into not-yet-shed virgins, discovered about to uncover something known. It is inappropriate…

  • Word of the Day

    Word of the Day

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    It has been a week of nouns weakening in applicability, often adjunct and defunct; this acronym owes more, to us, than onus. Mill mountain, noun, is promised to purge even itself, last sold in 1633, last whispered in Winchester, the fluxing flax chalked off. Info-bot is both proper and not, noun; Nunlets puff out grey,…

  • Ghazal

    Ghazal

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    It could be anyone, the one waiting somewhere for you to love her. You wait in a dark station, the trains arriving and leaving, knowing nothing of her. Everything is a welling up, an unhurried dance spinning and dipping, like the verses of a song repeating – singing like a hungry dove to her. She…

  • Rosemary’s Texas Taco

    Rosemary’s Texas Taco

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    Denver was becoming acutely aware that at this moment in the road trip, where a second wind might have kicked in, not even the slightest of breezes was blowing. “I know! Lets not go, let’s go somewhere else, we can drive to Tennessee or California, or Texas!” “We have to go. Nick’s expecting us, and…

  • Amphorae Transported

    Amphorae Transported

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    a Palestinian transports wine amphorae West. state government export programs should be. implemented as opposed to the arguments. about policy intervention strategies. an eager Roman transports wine amphorae East. execute the social change, “I am invulnerable. like a trade’mark”, says a Palestinian, the role. of legal rules is to asses without clear goals. intervention strategies…

  • Her Torso or Addie

    Her Torso or Addie

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    Like a length of string, like a lily of a day a firm, fragile thing. A spring stuck in play; or, the spring that can begin halfway to halfway The fixed compass pin where every line and degree meet their origin. Something new to see: when leaves fall and branches spread, the trunk to the…

  • Simile

    Simile

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    I have written poems pomes (pennyeach) like pommes as in pommes de terre those roots with eyes— and now I write in my eyes, to my eyes à mes yeux which means in another light ‘by my way of thinking’— and so to think of you as something like the apple fruit of one or…

  • A Yacht Club Party is Winding Down

    A Yacht Club Party is Winding Down

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    The last few bars of a big-band tune exposing themselves without a hint of self-awareness and the half-sober apercus of a gaggle of twenty or so be-sequined, be-suited women and men of a certain age their laughter playing soft on the southwest wind that is wrinkling the bay— everyone saying at once ‘I’ve drunk too…

  • Conversation

    Conversation

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    It’s like a death, but it’s worse. Because this is the last time I’ll speak with you and we’re both angry. I’m yelling something, but I’m looking at the rumple between your mouth and your nose, watching it as you press together your lips. The words continue, but my voice has long since drowned away.…