Andrew Wessels has lived in Houston, Cambridge, and Las Vegas. Currently, he splits his time between Istanbul and Los Angeles. His poems, translations, and collaborations can recently be found in or are forthcoming from VOLT, Fence, Colorado Review, The Journal, Washington Square Review, Grist, Handsome, Fact-Simile, and 580 Split. He edits The Offending Adam.
Yok :: Not Existent
in the elation the moon gibbous is funny servant perhaps or standard bearer burnt rosewood bored tree–fin better yet red slate counter functional static the moon stands funny wind function bored in red bored by burnt counter or tree–fin yet better standard bearer standing he laughs gibbous whistle unsettled we know it...
Var :: Existent
Whether I am stone or iron, I will be brought back to life, sailed in on ships from sea, led in through the gates. To be a tree is to be a tree: green scissored into leaves turning too slow to catch up. The first time was better, two bodies orbiting, depending...
Sonbahar :: Last Spring, Fall
I go loud into this shouting stone once for the clock lost in the grass and once until I return home. These briars in my pocket keep spring next to my thigh. When the clouds break to the stars, all this must go into safekeeping. Winter leans in the sky that can...
Ötesi :: What Follows, The Rest
one day was the first day cool and a question of perspiration on the tabletop the new building set stone over stone among tall weeds next to the river on the ground lost with the bugs a daydream of spiders in the snow one day was the second day dim and...
Ilkbahar :: First Spring
The cloud of word is cloud. The color of word is white clean pure ominous. The wind so away — Pigeon feathers in the parking lot. Blue varieties. A new civilization. A blue seagull across the window. The statue, bronze and greening, the hand stretches up at the ceiling, the world moss...
