By: Robert Spielman Very seldom does a man of any age, especially a man who has reached the age of deep-rooted regret, have only one item on the end table at the right hand of his rocking chair. Usually, a…
By: William Doreski Glacial Erratics in Belmont Being rocks, they don’t remember. Or remember very little. The streets square up to houses, to the playground, tennis courts, and the large but effete cemetery. The rocks squat self-conscious on lawns as…
By: Bruce Levine Fifteen minutes of fame. Not much consistency. Not much to build a career on. Not much to build a life on. Why did he bother? Why did he go through all the trouble? He’d asked himself those…
By: Linda Barrett One Thalia had everything ready for the last night of her life. While Hurricane Denise poured gallons of water down on the small New Jersey town, Thalia prepared herself for her suicide. She bought the sleeping pills…
By Russ Bickerstaff The place would’ve been considered squalid if it weren’t for the fact that there never really seemed to be that much of a consciousness there to judge its condition. This is not to say that there wasn’t…
By: Ajay Kumar Beach The sand refuses to own, the sea denies, orphaned the plastic breathes in undeservation- I feel obliged to call my limbs brown describing them under the sand even though, there, or beneath sea-foam, it is not…
By: Alan Berger I have not done anything wrong Then again, my memory Ain’t that long A walk in the sunny park Has become a stroll in quicksand In the dark I watch the news And search to see Who…
By Onkar Sharma that girl in the yellow top once left me aghast.came you like a gust of breeze and I was clutched in thy love, at last. you met, and my life was filled with starlight.you met, and my…
By: Mahathi PRANAVA (Sonnet) That sound sonorous, heard I ere, somewhere, coming from deep ethereal caverns. It’s like a numinous boom from vacuous sphere and like the whiffs of wind through dancing ferns. Sometimes I heard it low and verily…
By John Andreini Ringing like a small windchime followed a shadow sliding behind the three human silhouettes perched on the roof. “What’s that?” asked Dean, twisting his body. “My mom’s idiot cat. Kiki,” said Peter. “Bitch hates me.” “Kiki?” asked…