Poetry

SUNWASHED AND WASTEDBy John Sweet a beautiful failure like dogs runningthrough frozen fields like february sunlight ondirty ice blue skies cut by powerlines anddying gods left where they lie abandoned factoriesand empty warehouses this is the place meaningless words castingdistorted shadows...

DEAR HERONBy Danielle Hanson Dear Heron You have grown tired of my presence.I am a ghost haunting the wrong house.You are the knowing inhabitant of my ineffectiveness.I am what happens in the hour when clocks fall...

ANOTHER HOME POEMBy Daniel Ruefman    Another Home PoemAre homes places to which we clinglonger than we should,as if we are paint chips flakingfrom the doorjambs,or foam insulation bleedingthrough the seams of splintered siding.Or are they...

A DUAL PERSPECTIVEBy Patrick Erickson   A DUAL PERSPECTIVEDoes the edge of gloryreally work?Are you skittish?Are you skirtingthe edgewalking the walktoeing the line?Does it glowlike the glowwormlike its doubleits wormholeits twinlike those lighting stripsthat direct youdown...

AS MENBy Talon Florig As MenAs men we are taught that a woman’s walls are to be conquered, their gates to be crashed. We learn that only in the thrill of the hunt will we...

SUNRISE KIDBy Ross Jackson Sunrise kid his line of sight between smooth creamvee of sugar gum’s double trunkwhiskers sprout radii of goldfrom puckered areola of sunpulls on his pistol, fires one outa messy shot which dries...

STRANGERS ON A TRAINBy James K. Zimmerman Midflight that old manbecause he can'tget his bag downfrom the overhead bin because he can'tunzip it with bulgingknuckles and neuropathicfingers because he can'tfind the whateverhe was looking forin it with eyesthat...

AND THE WINDBy Kevin Gillam and the wind the wind blew through us. we were small thatday, there and not. sea was scuffed, frothed, whipped, smear of land far out where blue skirts blue.wind blew through us....

MY PANTRYBy Rikki Santer My Pantry Crowded with shelves it knows how to shelvecanisters of worry that pretend to be hermetic and brave. Good at orderly conductbut bad at assortment and prayer. When you gingerly open its louver...

LUSTBy Stephanie Daich Where’s Daddy “Where’s daddy,” his daughter cries through the night.“Where’s daddy,” his precious cries at first light.He had been there so often to tuck her inAnd always there with his morning grin. Her face...