By: Allison Hall My head is ravenous; it needs to feed.But I have nothing – no clonazepam,No ambien, no dolls, not even weed.I’ve done all that my shrink asked: swam,Walked, ran, and talked. Nothing helps – I still needA dose…
By: Pawel Markiewicz The mist heralds a dreamy, tender Apollonian dawn.I philosophize about wings of hawk or king – sparrow.In amazing grove at the Blue Hours – was born here a fawn.You should adore as well as praise charm such…
By: Domonique P & P A painter the poet acquainted, a lovely woman, her name Leroux.Her paintings were splendid, especially her works by the Sea.The songwriter was a hungry poet; Leroux offered him some food;The scent of the Blue World…
By Ruth Z. Deming Under the chandelier in my dining room is a cover from Life magazine. It has held up well over the years. The price is ten cents. A yearly subscription costs $4.50, and I am not foolish…
By: Christopher Johnson “Hey, Smith, yer T-shirt looks pink!” Larry Cuccinelli said, spitting out a laugh that hovered somewhere between playful and malevolent. He poked Paul in the shoulder. Paul was sitting next to him in the galley of…
By: RC deWinter give me some skin there you sitowning yourself magnificentlyso at home with who you are that’s irresistiblethe sight of someonecomfortable in his own skin no tricks no gamesno attempt at disguisecontent to just to be how did…
By: Bharti Bansal I have always fiddled with the idea of happiness;Of being like my mother; sacrificial and toying with this act of compromisesSo everytime someone showed me that I could be loved too, I ranI ran towards them until…
By: Leigh-Anne Burley April keeps her grandmother’scrystal and chinain a glass front cabinet.She cooks in battered pots and pans,washes chipped dishes and cups,hangs faded clothes on a line out back. Wonders if the red roosterperched on top of the peeling…
By: Aadi Desai I stare down at the umber river I stare down at the umber river embraced and blackened by the night the reflections of illuminated billboards lie on its surface. Here next to me, the prostitutes near a…
By: George Munyasia A Black Webbed Wasp There is a blackwebbed wasp fidgetingin the thick wintrylight, determined to freeitself.The predatordraws closer. The poor preyflaps the half-brokenwing one more time.One more time. ### In Memory of Victor Paled star of my…
