By: J. D. Nelson marbles to lake a lake the wheel of the barren worldthe marching pow is the fangèd danger the galactic name of the forkthe brain of the knuckles the floral eyebrowthe scum radio the name of he…
By: Christine Naprava Canine Litmus I’ve owned dogs that have lasted longer than you and I.Dogs with nervous guts and singing skin,dogs with weight and dogs with ribs visible,dogs with teeth bared and dogs with teeth drowning in decay.Dogs born…
By: Bruce Levine Friday was only three days away, but to James Letang, it seemed like an eternity. Actually, to almost any nine-year-old, three days can seem like an eternity when they’re waiting for something to happen. In James’ case…
By: Christian Ward Cinema The first film I sawat the cinema was Mastersof the Universe with DolphLundgren and Frank Langella.I was seven and bored,wanting the minutesto scurry like mice. I startedpicturing a western insteadof the drab ‘80s movie:Saguaro cactuses intimidatinglike…
By: David Pike Standing around,waiting for somethingto happen,used to beas exciting as it would getduring adolescent years,small town style. All the whilelife went onas it always did,with little to report,and days and weekswould driftinto something or other,or nought. But it’s…
By: Carl Papa Palmer a computer, dad like going to the libraryonly quickerwe can stay right here not a TV, a video monitorto watch what is typedview search results it can’t see you, dador hear youno need to whisper okay,…
By: James Aitchison Poetrychanges the shapeand substanceof memories.Circling truths,exposing them,crushing them.Until nothingremains ofthe original.Not one jot.
By: Charlotte Cosgrove Roman de la poire The first time the heartcame out of the bodyAs a tokenIt was cradledIn the hands of manGifting his affectionWith a pear.He mustHave been sweatingLonging forThe sumptuousnessOf the fruit.For her to takeA bite.Peel the…
By: Aleksandra Lekić Vujisić Walking I am walking on the needles of past livesThat fit so nicely in the portrait of my pain,I am holding onto sparkling memoriesThat never wanted to hug loss and shame. I am leaving without any…
By: Jim Brosnan When the World Was Silent Beneath the milkyshadows of a blue moon,I cautiously follow youas we hopscotchthe beige bouldersof the breakwater.We stop to watchreturning lobster boatsheading to port,the hum of diesel enginesfilling the August airbefore we sit…