By: Carl Papa Palmer Anticipation She watches the officer’s precise approach in her rear view mirror, grips the steering wheel tightly keeping both hands in plain sight at ten and two. Not the first time in this situation, she recalls…
By: Sam Barbee / trespass / lamp post beside my happy gate / its hinge-pin creaks /holly bush’s red berries / lush lawn, swept sidewalk. oak tree silhouette blackens neighbor’s yard /a bough-stamp of roots / like fingers’ dark-gnarl. leafless…
By: J.K. Durick Early This early the streetlightsbegin losing their battlewith darkness are slowly replaced by the sunby morningits beauty silent, bare something whispers “fiat lux”and then thereis This early we get to seeday begin this waythe sky wins colors…
By: Lisa Creech Bledsoe The Way Poets Go On About Birds (My Secret Poem Name is Swan) True, we do go on, having had our organic yogurtwith bran on the porch as the sun rises. Jesushow could we not, after…
By: Ricky Garni F THAT MUSEUM IS EVER hit by a tornado,Alexander Hamilton’s hairwill land on Harry Houdini’sOuija Board What’s left of the world’s smallest mermaidwill settle upon Bigfoot’s foot. ### ARCHIVES this man filmed his wife as a child.and…
By: Michael Foldes A Pilgrim’s Progress A fish can only feed so many flies.So the earth makes a lowly home for the worm.How complete the visitor who sharesexperience with the stranger.We meditate in crowded rooms as easilyas on the Holy…
By: Carl Papa Palmer Lying up under the caron the floor of my garageI see his little feet arrive,the shadow of his headbending down to ask,“Whattaya want, Dad?” “Hand me that number two Phillipson the workbench over there, son.” I…
By: Alan Ford A moral satirist.Pimps and politicians meetromantics and radicalswith no class distinction. A Rake’s Progresswith bloodline infectedby patriarchal contagiontravel sick in embryo. A Harlot’s Progressportrays seductress as victimsafe-guarding hypocrisyfor respectable women. Marriage A- La- Modesees mercenary couplingswho are…
By: Christian Garduno Morning Frost I’m listening to your cassette and I’m wearing your t-shirtguess you could say I’m in your moodit’s a sure thingyou know I’d love toyes, yes, yessummer calls and the wind tastes like wineletters are sent,…
By: Stephen Faulkner The man stood silently at the podium, looking over the massively gathered congregation of solemn, sodden gray faces before him. He coughed twice to clear his throat and then, in a commanding voice, spoke. *** …