Size / / /

in memory of Gene Van Troyer

today his internal suburbia is fetched with black rain

and wild hanging gardens frosted by albino crows

today her voice seems to calve to hundreds

its order carrying an arbitrary valence

today they cling to romantic artifice

their destiny as surgeons of the what-was

tomorrow they will map shattered portraits

and listen for the thoughts of their lost

mirror-images, scheduled to announce

their own identities in place of the real

meanwhile, a periphery of giant funnels

is moaning jazzoid into the night sky

there are streets that wind cycloid into

dead suns, scattered word-like upon light's whiteness

today there are windows that return the stares

of all witnesses to the crimes of the crystallizing eye


Robert Frazier is the author of eight books of poetry, and a three-time winner of the Rhysling Award for poetry. He lives on Nantucket Island and paints as a member of the Artists' Association of Nantucket. You can find out more about his work in his Wikipedia entry, and you can contact him at raf@nantucket.net



Andrew Joron's latest poetry collection is The Sound Mirror, published by Flood Editions (2009). The Cry at Zero, a selection of his prose poems and critical essays, was published by Counterpath Press in 2007. He lives in Berkeley.
Robert Frazier is the author of eight previous books of poetry, and a three-time winner of the Rhysling Award for poetry. He has won an Asimov's Reader Award and been on the final ballot for a Nebula Award for fiction. His books include Perception BarriersThe Daily Chernobyl, and Phantom Navigation (2012). His 2002 poem "A Crash Course in Lemon Physics" was nominated for a Pushcart Prize. Recent works have appeared in Asimov's Science Fiction, Dreams & Nightmares, and Strange Horizons. His long poem "Wreck-Diving the Starship" was a runner-up for a 2011 Rhysling Award. He can be reached by email at raf@nantucket.net.
Current Issue
17 Jan 2022

The land burns so hot and high tonight that Let can see its orange glow even from the heart of The City of Birds. It burns so thick she can taste the whole year’s growth of leaves and branches on her lips. It burns so fast she can almost hear the deer and cottontails scream as flames outrun them and devour them whole.
I writhe in bed with fever, chills, chatters and shivers. The near becomes far as the far comes close.
No one gets married before going to space.
Issue 10 Jan 2022
Issue 3 Jan 2022
Strange Horizons
By: Antonio Funches
By: Lev Mirov
Podcast read by: Ciro Faienza
Issue 20 Dec 2021
By: Merie Kirby
Podcast read by: Ciro Faienza
Issue 13 Dec 2021
By: Freydís Moon
Podcast read by: Ciro Faienza
Issue 6 Dec 2021
By: C. S. E. Cooney
Podcast read by: Ciro Faienza
Podcast read by: C. S. E. Cooney
Issue 29 Nov 2021
Issue 22 Nov 2021
Issue 15 Nov 2021
By: Madeline Grigg
Podcast read by: Ciro Faienza
Issue 8 Nov 2021
By: Allison Parrish
Podcast read by: Ciro Faienza
Issue 1 Nov 2021
By: Liam Corley
Podcast read by: Ciro Faienza
Podcast read by: Liam Corley
Load More
%d bloggers like this: