Night By Austin Holmes I come together again at night, I open my eyes, I wet them with this darkness full of dream. -- Jaime Sabines, I Have Eyes to See at night the cownprint is silent water from the day’s rain fills its tenebrous depth and drinks the light of the moon in the … Continue reading Night (Poem)
By Eli Beck “Yeah, I wanted to get out the whole time I was there, and since I left all I want to do is go back.” I say this sentence all the time. If I’m just meeting you, you’ll ask “where are you from?” I’ll say “Bluff, a dinky town of 200 sump’m people,” … Continue reading Bluff is Not Enough (and that’s just fine) | Essay
Happening By Eli Beck Is there anything happening? I know, I know, you’re there, but is there anything happening (you are nice but you do not happen) what should we happen to do? wait remember that thing, that one time, that happened? a Happening I could tell my happening friends about because we did not … Continue reading Happening (Poem)
Walking along the dry streambed in late summer I am not so accustomed to such dense foliage here yet those two dead cottonwoods remain, consistent on the bank side by side are these twin shadows of lightning
Gila By Austin Holmes Heloderma suspectum Elusive monster I long to witness your beaded banded skin Bubbling like boiling mythical waters Venom-soaked tongue like a dusty mauve rose Perhaps I shall one day see you emerge From your red earth dwelling, deer mouse in mouth, And shall applaud you and my Boundless fortuity
By Vaughn Hadenfeldt I’m camping in a familiar spot at the junction of a side drainage and its main canyon. For over thirty years I’ve shared this campsite with family, friends and clients. Tonight I’m with two men who have hired me to guide them through this canyon on a backpack trip. Like many locations … Continue reading Camp Spot (Essay)
"You could say all the paintings I've done have been about the Bears Ears area," Lancaster says. "One of the things about living in Bluff is right outside the door is inspiration."
Walk with me into the borderless kiln of tenderness; all we know and are is this clay.
A poem by Irene Hamilton
A poem by Austin Holmes.