Category: Archives

when we no longer live in our bodies do we inhabit the spaces between voices cupped in bedspread folds hands around a match winter kitchen cookbook stains unmarked keys missing teeth tufts of feather and bone?

Absconded, in the dead of the heat just two nights ago, enamored of darkness, two unremarkable syllables, neither one a word or capable of turning a word

                            Joshua Young is the author of six collections, most recently, Psalms for the Wreckage (Plays Inverse, 2017) and the chapbook, Weekends of Sound: 764-Hero Mixtape (Madhouse Press, 2020). His novella, Little Galaxies, is forthcoming from Los Galesburg Press in 2020. Joshua…

I am writing to tell you what it was like for me the days I sat beside you, holding the phone on speaker

The Tale    At Ali’Shan we witness what’s left of skeletal rare red cypress  Nippon clear-cut an aeon ago.

I went out front and found my father drinking vodka and Mountain Dew and haphazardly watering the lawn with a hose. He had already had a couple, I guessed, as he was spraying water everywhere and laughing. He kept on laughing when he noticed me.

Gifford had been attending a management conference out West when he came across the mannequins posing in black leather underpants. As he checked his bag through to Atlanta, he became nervous and imagined overzealous security agents laughing when they plucked the new briefs from his suitcase.