From the pale-lit hallway, Jeff could hear his date bustling inside her apartment for half a minute before he knocked again and she opened the door. She was beautiful, small and slim, with dark hair and straight-across bangs, nicely modest- chested. Her brown eyes called out with long lashes against the deathly pallor of her ash-white…

Clarence Portis (1946-2013) was one of the greatest spellers ever to walk the halls of Exalted Wounds Catholic Elementary in north St. Louis. He was also one of the school’s first black students. Pale boys with razor knicks on the sides of their heads pushed him into lockers and called him things, while nuns looked away…

Let me make this clear: I didn’t want to kill that tiger. And I certainly didn’t want to kill him on stage. I loved him, but he was a dangerous old cat. White tigers always are—it’s a genetic thing. Their chromosomes are all out of line with each other and they don’t know what the hell…

Ad Hominem The Poet: Fugitive lung, prodigal intestine— where’s the pink crimp in my side where they took you out? The Octopus: It must be a dull world, indeed, where everything appears to be a version or extrapolation of you. The birds are you. The springtime is you. Snails, hurricanes, saddles, elevators— everything becomes you….

A Long Look by Alex Canby Forty-three, Richard paints his first self-portrait. Wife and kids are gone for the weekend. Large mirror to his left, canvas to his right. Shoulders, neck, the shape of his head, and hairline look perfect. The face is blank and beige. His head hangs, face in hand. Warm tears, slick on…