from a mis-read headline By: Catherine McGuire The portable dust-bunnies need no help. Snuggle-lint nests in corners of my flannel jacket; they feed off the lining. Don’t worry. The rain-dyed wooden clothespins like hobos seeking shelter are merely misdirected —…
By: Chuck Orloski That day in the Mediterranean Sea, Jonah took leave of the whale belly and exited his reconnaissance trance. Upon surfacing, the USS Liberty afire, and Jonah heard no thunder from D.C. High above the American dead, Jonah saw…
By: Linda M Crate you wanted me to crucify my dreams and hopes and aspirations to be content living behind the walls of dead dreams believing in the vanity of scorn and judgment, but i could not be death…
By: Linda M Crate i can be soft as petals, but i can be cutting as thorns; gave you my worst and my best thought inbetween the scars we both had that we could find this thing that is…
By: L.D. Diem I never thought about killing myself until I imagined losing my daughter to some horrible disease seeing her deteriorate like I did my father- for eight years of his life it was something my 23 year old self…
By: Zunayet Ahammed The night sky calls me To see her sapphire The deep dark forest requests me To be his bosom The lonely clouds offer me To soar very high In the naked heaven Only you don’t ask me…
By: Zunayet Ahammed Symphony is fading away afar Tigers in us bawling Seeing tube-roses weeping In the infertile land of spring. We visualize the pretensions and nakedness Of those so-called men who’ve gone “faludha” Now a days No rosy rain…
By: Susan Speranza Five years of memories for sale by owner. Better yet, free to a good home. I need to clean out the rooms of my life where joy once roamed and promises hung like sacred lanterns, guiding our way…
By: Michael Chin Rey Mysterio, five-foot-six, professional wrestling’s littlest star, presses his masked forehead to the forehead of children in the crowd on his way to the ring. He whispered to each one variations on the same message. Not words of…
By: Michael Chin The Ultimate Warrior used to run to the ring. Long hair waving behind him. Fist pumping. And I pumped my fist too. At the spectacle. At the intensity. At the explosion. Ten, fifteen years later, when he’d…