By: Srinaath Perangur Incarceration I have known who they aresince I was littleI’ve seen himlike this. Reading theEconomist. Hidden in his bag:littlebottles of vodka. Willfulit is a different kind of forgetting altogether.I search for himThree quarters of a blueberry muffin…
By: Alyssa Trivett It was never the property, or any sort of bloodline. Lightbulbs crackled like World War II radio static. Dogs being walked stopped in their tracks. Fan blades always whir, the switch was never flipped. Your clothes collect dust….
By: Gabriella Garofalo 1. Does it account for Eve’s lover? Sometimes artists get high Or maybe it wasn’t good mud – Anyway cicadas sing, grass and trees are freebies, You’d like to meet him, but run into men, women With their…
By: Ruth Asch They are rebuilding proud Palmyra from kebab-sticks, (the pride of peoples, razed to dust.) One can no longer sit by a temple wall to write of doubt, from ramparts satirize the world of power; party, or paint a…