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Air Bag

i have tasted air bag, it’s a badge of honor, a one-way ticket to epiphany, it tastes like burnt rubber, like powdery words sucked...

Exit Ninety-three

On a morning when the sky nearly brushes my hair, I cross the parking lot dodging a cyclist in a red T-shirt. He barely...

On Writing and Craft: An Interview with Lyn Lifshin

This interview first appeared on PoetryCircle in 2006, shortly after the site was founded. PoetryCircle: Lyn, you're probably as prolific as any poet writing today,...

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