By: Ross Maclean-Bryant 2. And I knew I’d do that through telephones.The teletext confessionalsAnd the brashness of bones Amidst the extendable nature of shortcuts,The video games familiar,Charging across the bowling greenWith a famished pair of scissors And though these fingers…

By Russell Richardson “Did you fuck with my fruit?” my wife called through the open bathroom doorway. We had long ago abandoned the formality of shutting the door when doing our business. But, yes, she had caught me. A new…

By: Hardeep Sabharwal If it is male Taunts will be focused on his caste, If he is heretical, questions will be made in the name of religion, If it is a female Her character will be dissected, and Jokes will…

By: John P. Drudge As She Moved Time stilledWhen she walked acrossThe roomStopping his mindIn its tracksThe inverted maskOf his fearFalling to the groundAs she movedSeeing somethingReflected in her eyesPerhaps doubtA dreamRegretA deep somethingYet unspokenBehind a smileOn the surfaceOf secrets…

By Jon Carter peaceful nothing downtown sidewalkpeople walk bytalkingsmilingbrightignorant /happy teethunwilling to acknowledge that no easy thingslive in the chestand nothingmeaningfullivesout of it, beyond thema dying elm tree standsagainst the street,ideas like mulchsurrounding it as it’sstrangled by the sun-no rainno…

“Poetry is a conversation between the present and the past with a hope for the future. A visitation with bards and griots, and a probe, like a wandering rocket, into parts yet unknown. A modernizing of a message in stone,…

By: Kevin Criscione Like ghost ships passing in the night or dark-hued mountains in the distance, each call a portal to a different untouchable world into which I was only offered a brief and unsatisfying glimpse.  I was thirty-two. I…

By Mike Hickman “I’ve never understood why they call it parents’ evening,” Mr Driscoll said to his wife as the parents waited amongst the shards of the children’s achievements. “It’s not about us, after all, is it?” Mrs Driscoll instructed…

By: Todd Mercer Dear Regular Yogurt, The jig is up, the show’s over. You had a steady run that lasted a long generation or so. Now it falls to me to tell you what you should have already realized. The…

By Linda S. Gunther 1964. The Bronx. At 11 years old, I had a baseball card collection with over two hundred fifty trading cards I kept in an A&P grocery cardboard box under the bed. My cards were alphabetically organized…