bryanborland

A poem by Bryan Borland on the occasion of being infected with respiratory gunk at the hands of nephew Oliver. (Click this link to hear this performed in full-on sick voice.) OLIVER’S GERMS   I am holding the child, his small body warm as fresh bread, his breath rough in his chest, a little animal trying to catch its own shadow.   We’ve been running through rooms as if joy were the cure the body never rejects. But now he sags against me, and I feel the fever in the place where his ribs meet...

I recently said I wanted Assaracus, my journal of gay and queer poetry, to feel like a dive bar—a hangout and safe space for LGBTQ+ poets across styles and identities to come together, to be in conversation with one another, to showcase the power of queer poetry in all its diversity, danger, love, and humanness. In that spirit, the poets of Assaracus 26 recently gathered to do just that. And the good news for you? I recorded it, and you can watch it here . So pour your favorite libation or...

On Saturday, November 1, I had the joy of taking part in the Hot Springs Poetry Festival Launch Party at Kollective Coffee + Tea , alongside a strong lineup of poets: Kai Coggin, Samyak Shertok, Greg Brownderville, Sandy Longhorn, Acie Clark, Kalina Smith, and Toni Garcia-Butler . The evening was alive with language, laughter, and the hum of community. The air in Kollective, a space that has long championed poetry and the arts in Arkansas, felt electric with connection and creativity. I...