Article Results (Showing 1 - 10 of 10) RSS Alert
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Tenderness of the Dove
Like a vulture to a graveyard. Like a Brueghel to a red or a Guernica to a black or a Krasner to a hot orange. Air vague, and best to know it than...
American Poetry Review, The, 05/01/05 by Conoley, Gillian · More from publication -
Three Figures at the Gates of the Gully
an airport by matchlight no usual links how lovely the clouds in the form of unsayability- for a change, it's poetry that neglects the capital
American Poetry Review, The, 11/01/03 by Conoley, Gillian · More from publication -
Next and the Corner
And so it was, in such a way, like aging into my days I had come to resemble the dead movie house on Mission called the El Capitan. Three figures...
American Poetry Review, The, 11/01/03 by Conoley, Gillian · More from publication -
Extremes, The
I was attracted to the extremes I had a leg up on it Once alone I folded my hands in my lap, twin ambiguities Incessant rain a reminder that if...
American Poetry Review, The, 01/01/99 by Conoley, Gillian · More from publication -
World, The
It was just a gas station. It was not spectacular carnage. A woman in the parking lot, red I Love Lucy kerchief, dousing his shirts with lighter...
American Poetry Review, The, 01/01/99 by Conoley, Gillian · More from publication -
Masters, The
The photographs were yellow where death is a bidden slow form splitting cells though the day is tremor, open, a red tanager seen on the way to...
American Poetry Review, The, 11/01/97 by Conoley, Gillian · More from publication -
Beauty and the Beast
That the transactions would end. That the rose would open (her appearance in a Cyrillic blouse), leaving the sense that one had reached for it -...
American Poetry Review, The, 01/01/97 by Conoley, Gillian · More from publication -
Beckon
Dead cold spots in the air, others bright and richly colored as opera, my old dress is worn out, torn up, dumped, another thing the mad made....
American Poetry Review, The, 03/01/96 by Conoley, Gillian · More from publication -
Nocturne
In the corrugated rungs of rose-colored and canted sunset, bootsoles leave little hexes on the sidewalk, I have forgotten what flag I fly. A dead...
American Poetry Review, The, 03/01/96 by Conoley, Gillian · More from publication -
As in the small gaps between minutes
Under the non-moon, in the watery tint of the nearly finished, the about to become, the woman lays on her right side, with her too many darknesses...
American Poetry Review, The, 03/01/96 by Conoley, Gillian · More from publication
