& LATER BY ADRIAN MATEJKA

—after “Trumpet,” Jean-Michel Basquiat the broken sprawl & crawl of Basquiat’s paints, the thin cleft of villainous pigments wrapping each frame like the syntax in somebody else’s relaxed explanation of lateness: what had happened was. Below blackened crowns, below words crossed out to remind of what is underneath: potholes, ashy elbows, & breath that, in…

FORECAST BY Camille Rankine

I twist myself into a knot the day pulls taut. I am what I am told. Good red meat gone necrotic. A spot of black spread out to ruin a perfect evening. It’s the way the weather wears me. A cold, blank day. My blood- burned fingers. A white noise swelling in me. It’s nothing…