The doors slam and I am screaming at you “slut.”
The chairs topple as I threaten, screaming, but
I’m too you to go.

Your breasts crush into my chest —…

My daddy was a preacher
With the Devil at his feet
A mostly sinful creature
Who no woman could defeat
He preached the Word, the pastor
Preaching Hell’s eternal fire
But he was not the master
Giving in to his desire
The Devil was his teacher
Filling him with lustful heat
Yes, my daddy was a preacher
With the Devil at his feet.

I’d spend my Sundays sitting In the pew surrounded by My brothers, sisters getting Jesus in their hearts and cry I never knew how many Kids were my half-siblings there I never dated any Girls with green…

When we were young and still
In love, we’d wander ‘round
The strip pit, climb the hill
Look down where your brother drowned
Where boys still fish for bass
There we’d stand and you would sigh
The sun would shine like brass
There in the pond and you would cry

That scar upon the land
That scar upon your heart
I was too young to really understand
That scar upon the land
That scar upon your heart
I was too young, so we both grew apart

We’d row across the pond The island topped with trees Were you would show…

LITERATURE

Devil on the Cross by Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o is in many ways one of the most important postcolonial works of literature to come out of Africa. Written in Gĩkũyũ and translated into English by the author, this novel has had a great deal of influence on other postcolonial African writers, and it is for this reason alone that one should pay it close attention.

Devil on the Cross is a satire of the economic conditions in Kenya during the 1970s (the novel was published in 1980). An economist who is reading this novel will be able to easily fault the…

Your trailer lights are out tonight
Why did we have to always fight?
I hear the lonely crunch as I
Drive down the final gravel road

Your trailer’s silver in the moon
I pray that you will be home soon
I am a man, I will not cry
I’m down the final gravel road

Where did you go?
Why did you leave?
I do not know
Why I must grieve
My loss of you —
What can I do?
I’m down the final gravel road

Your hounds are howling, how they drown The crickets out — I see your gown…

POETRY

I contemplate the Will to Power
While standing wet here in the shower

The only time and place where I
Can let the neurons flow — I’m dry

When I…

The moment shines upon the mirror ball Of memory, those little lights a part Of what was woven in our neural flows That build us into who we believe We…

FICTION

Walking to the Pehmin’s in a towel, I see a light coming through the glass sliding door. The Phemins are family friends who live in Little Rock, across the street from my grandparents. It is late — midnight, I think, it is so dark — but I go in, because they are asleep, but John is up, talking on the phone. I can see him through the glass sliding door, surrounded by our clothes, placed in piles around the room, ready to be washed. I walk in. John is talking to his girlfriend on the phone. …