By Chinese Poet Hongri Yuan Translated by Yuanbing zhang Ⅰ The golden sidestep of the days,ah! arranged golden ladders years. A mirror let me saw countless smiles of time. The long corridors of gold leading to countless crystal space-times. On…
By: Grant Guy the city i the city the steam of the city runs through my finger & fills the breath i inhale in carnal partnership of concrete & blood of the noise & clamor embraces like a lover can…
By Giles Selig Sad news just came from my poor sister About the beau she knew as Mister. He had a mansion on the boulevard, A maid and a Mercedes. He worked hard. A ton of money in the bank….
By: Mark A. Murphy Critique of Critical Criticism Should we turn a blind eye to those acolytes of critical criticism, or note with all due attention, the ‘inability to resolve the tension between the lyrical and erotic’ in a given…
By: Doug Van Hooser Stray Bullet In Chicago stray is not a dog with sad eyes It’s not a bar ribbed cat meowing at your door It’s a piece of harm that tears flesh and splatters lives A Chicago omelet of…
By: Megha Sood 1. Aberration I’m an aberration, An anomaly, A certain twist in the tale How do you feel when you masks peel off in layers? and every time you shred your pain and misery You see more layers…
By: James G. Piatt Idols of Stone Idols of stone, the remains of the ancient times of dinosaurs, pharaoh’s, pagan priests, kings, and tyrants, rest on tiny pebbles in a soft forest grove. They are silent during the day but speak…
By: John Maxwell O’Brien Down by the Echo Lake (A Villanelle) Down by the echo lake in spectral dreams tin souls prepare their wake Green hands ring round the rake A lime of veils down by the echo lake Watered…
By: Stephen Mead Watering invites you to become all things littlest: Grub tongues, star-nosed moles, avid Aphids & missionary bees… Butterflies also, the fluttering migrations pass on, resemble the sun, shade, scent… So we are ephemera lasting gigantic as we…
By: Daniel de Culla A teacher asks Little James What balls are those that don’t have hairs And Little James answered quicly: -None, teacher, because all the balls And more those of Villar Have hairs. There was laughter by spoonfuls Like…