Reviewed by: Thomas Sanfilip Translated from the French by Kurt Heinzelman Host Publications Most poetry written today cannot claim descent from the moral standard that underlies all great poetry, but rather the neutered outer shell of language that evolved in…
By: Linda M. Crate i am a train one day i’ll crash into monuments of myself that i won’t recognize; we are always evolving, always changing the more we resist the more inevitable it is— and though we change there’s…
By: Linda M. Crate i was the girl that was too trusting i believed everything you had to say, and i didn’t conceive the thought you were just being charming to get what you wanted; it was all a game…
By: J.L. Amos Creamy, purple-flowered porcelain. Circular. A tulled ballerina in toe shoes spins to brass polyphonics, mindless with a strawberry sneer. Bump it off the dresser with a searching elbow, rage smash it on the wall, finger push it….
By: Khemendra Kamal Kumar Oh, what queer sight my eyes to see, Two lovely doves, springing in glee, In gusty South Easterly, they grew with me, Gliding in the fair skies, far from thee. In unison, swaying heads right to…
By: Mitch Green Sinners, saints – bone edged proficient damsels Rebirthed reunions relishing fortified foundations of burial worship. To sink, we embalm our bones, Hope – it’s not our home, Nostalgic principles of dreamscapes and saloons, dividing oceans, Monsoons, grave lagoons….
By: Mitch Green I took her breath into my lungs – all of it. Intoxication never hit so hard; that surreal spin submersing beneath my humanity with enough influence to drive me off the ledge from this prodigal possession. It…
By: Charles X. Madruga Drifting through dreams on her bed she whispers a scene through my head and I swear I should’ve died right then when she said – something in my ear, to be honest I didn’t hear a single…
By: Debleena Majumdar He stood alone, At the street corner Selling his wares, Masks of black and grey. They came to buy, Their own masks of pain. Masks that hid what, They could not say. Locked behind Glasspanes of power,…
By: Upasana Sharma My river is mist and smoke. 300 feet deep and 3 kilometers wide, My river, Is a great big miracle. Some number of Lonely dolphins and happy humans have left their souls Stirring under the translucent roots…