By: Pawel Markiewicz mysterious mystic mythical merry-ladybug you are melancholy like little wolf loving Little Red Riding Hood in the pond of the muses feelings You are a lily of eternity which can smell very cute gorgeous gentle genial grasshopper You…
By: Karl Miller Prologue – Jibacoa, Cuba: July 4, 1868 In the darkness behind a large, white, two-story mansion just outside the small fishing village of Jibacoa, three rows of twenty balloons line a hundred-foot dock that stretches out into…
By: Amirah Al- Wassif traveling on the right wing of an angeltake me away, away to my first dancedragging ourselves through the fancy castleshakes me today, today as it is my chanceoh! how far our starry nightoh! what a rare any…
By: Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozábal The Ghosts of the Battlefield The ghosts of the battlefield wear their uniforms and their bracelets, walk with their bullet riddled bodies. A dog can sense a spirit or two and barks and barks his lungs out….
By: Don Thompson 1. Deep in the weeds of volume three of Modern Painters (in Part IV and Chapter XII), John Ruskin has included an essay under the title, “Of The Pathetic Fallacy”. This is one of those literary terms that…
By: Joe Barca There’s a certain heartbreak in clothesthat lay folded too neatly, in a wardrobethat’s missing an owner, in a ghost thatinhabits a closet. He lives in a home that is wounded. The floorboards are quietly weeping. He is half…
By: Brooksie C. Fontaine The young woman had an unfortunate pageboy haircut that didn’t at all flatter her rotund face, somewhat emphasized by her slightly bloated skin. The pale, ashen clay of her complexion made her resemble the moon. “She…
By: Joe Hefta Lately I’ve been keepingTo myself, broodingDown in the basementDown in the workshopLooking over my tools andWondering, worrying whatWould you do with this or that.With suspicion. The awlBecomes a cause for concern.The tape measure has alwaysBeen threateningIf you had…
By: Fred Chandler In Sequester When the lone eyeCaught those childrenBowing their headsIn a blur of a shadowIt was of some signOf an equinox passingNo squeals or laughterJust silence of sleepingIn white beds still madeStill birds frozen flowers ### Intense…
By: Monica Carroll Skin burn scar made Must. Slower at the tail. Nerve gives out, then I rush. Feel slower. We’re after second, not third. The kickback still surprises me. Who is pushing who? The skin or the steel? Hold…