By Ranjit Kulkarni Something wasn’t right. His optic cameras were blurred. He checked the respiratory console. Eighteen per minute. Then he checked the wiring in his heart device. A pumping rate of eighty per minute. High but ok. But when…

By: Richard LeDue A Spiritual Awakening of Sorts Your undershirt is three days old,stinks of sweat and whisky,while the dress shirt is limpon the floor like a castoff skin,leaving you fresh, readyfor another lively nightlistening to dead musiciansand so sure…

By: Grant Guy khlebnikov’s funeral will not be televised hlebnikov’s funeral will not be televised laughlaugher hlebnikov laugh vel eh mir vel eh mir vel eh mir rah rah shim boom bah laugh khlebnikov laugh laughter liveslaughter liveslaughter rah rah…

By: Nikolaos Rousopulos Time, that thief, creeps with silent steps,Stealing the lightness of our youth.Five years hence, what will be leftBut the stark, unyielding truth? The dread of aging, a constant reminder,Presses down with no reprieve.Our days once endless, now…

By: Gregg Norman Stench of bones and bodiesCourting catastropheCamouflaged by cleaning fluidsDour faces in waiting roomsChildren run screamingDown wide waxed hallwaysWhite coats and pea greenPajama suits and sneakersFloral print gownsTied toilet-friendly in backCompassion fueled by coffeeOn graveyard shiftsWake up for…

By: Yena Lee Currently, 3.32 billion people play games. This means that fifty-three percent of people in the world are gamers. Fifty-eight percent of people eighteen to thirty-four are gamers. For young people, gaming is a habit and a big…

By: Bruce Levine Focused on today Time takes its own direction Moving through the maze Ambiguity resolved Like strokes of a pen Setting a course Drawing pathways in space Flexible lines Sketched in the sand Waiting for the tide Resolutions…

By: David Ali Your name means star. Maybe that is why the sound of your voice brightens my dark skies no matter how thick the darkness. The first time we met, I knew that it wasn’t an ordinary coincidence but…

By: David Sapp Patty, Patty, Patty. When I was seven, all I could think of was Patty. Kissing Patty McCalla. Patty was the tiniest girl in our class, an itty-bitty version of Mary Tyler Moore. Dark hair, impish eyes, the…

By: David Sapp After a four-hour layover in the Buffalo bus terminal, after crossing the Peace Bridge in the middle of the night and disembarking again, an honest and earnest young man, I naively informed the customs officer I would…