By: Ron Riekki Cameras Steal Souls We photograph each other until we smell. There is a sledgehammer ghost in the background. She screams for us to put away the cameras and kill the photos and smash the graphs to replace them…
By: Christina Berchini Every weekend for the last year echoed with the guidance counselor’s useless advice, and reminders that I do not really have any friends. To make matters worse, Sunday mornings were now occupied by church pews that I’d rather…
By: Debasis Tripathy Temple queue A clear moonshine, A little sweat on the forehead, Standing in a temple queue, And a little prayer come true. These simple things have made the evening sweet. ——— 0 ——— A call In this world…
By: Aditya Malhotra We are soldiers Weary of pointing our gunnery At the pristine snow-capped mountains Bordering our land of peasants Hanging by their necks Where reviled women with mutilated bodies Lay unclaimed like prisoners of war And bellies of drowned…
By: Aditya Malhotra What can one see staring at a mirror? * * * Am I the one picked up among skein Or looking at someone more alive? Who giggles seeing me chase my tail Warms up in mouth to mouth…
By Olatubosun David The irony is when they all compete to survive the onslaught of the hunger that feeds on human flesh in the land of surplus Seers have ceased to see fine Their eyes are feeble Their visions are…
By: Alex Phuong Michigan writer, Carol Smallwood is currently one of the most prolific authors writing today. Credited with numerous books, she continues to publish poetry on a wide variety of topics. She has also received acclaim for her artistic merit and…
By: Jourdan Lobban It was a scorching Saturday. I had to get my hair done no matter the cost. But my Wawa regiment had to be satisfied first. I had done the routine countless times: I’m in with my money,…
By: Alyssa Trivett We sat at the round table in afternoon dust as the revolving doors roller skated in frigid breeze and our froggy throats talked about the weather and how your treatment went. And we sat with folded hands…
By Linda M Crate impaling goddess the creek stones glittering like jewels will be my crown i am not in need of a hero because i save myself so if you’re looking for a damsel in distress, i’m sorry you…