CLOCKWORK by Anannya Uberoi
Clockwork
The clockwork's clunking cycles—
routine chirrups working with
our own, mechanical metronome
dictating our waking and falling
and drifting in staccato synchrony.
The clockwork's scissors shard
furibund flowers by the hour,
comb the seasons, change their warmth,
pendulum the...
BREEZE by Alan Berger
BREEZE
There is a soft breeze coming from a place I use to be
A sweet gust between the two of us
A truce of sorts if you want to call it that
A sort of cease fire...
OVERFLOW by Adam Day
OVERFLOW
Judges – spit
no polish; wigs
out of order –
clouds hanging
like wool
on barbed wire.
History rush
loosens jaws
white system
reality rewritten
in cities that are
also history.
Adam Day is the author of Left-Handed Wolf...
TEN THINGS I HATE ABOUT YOU AND OTHER LIES I TELL MYSELF by Erin...
Ten Things I Hate About You And Other Lies I Tell Myself
One. You never say thank you or please, and
You hate everything that’s breathing.
I discovered it since day One, of course, and
soon...
WHY by Dave Clark
Why
Why.
Who is better off at their final breath?
I cry out.
Why?
I get no answer.
There has to be an answer for this.
Surely some reason,
Some purpose.
But what answer
Would leave me feeling okay
About their demise?
What answer would satisfy?
Why.
I’m...
ANGEL OF BRIDGEPORT by Linda Barrett
Angel of Bridgeport
The County called me up
For Jury Duty
I had to report on the 27th
To make sure I got there
By 8:15 A.M.
I took a drive up there
Mother in tow.
The Map Quest’s directions
Confused me
Driving is...
IN THE FLOW OF THE LIGHT by Martin Willitts Jr.
In the Flow of the Light
A warm, comforting light
fringes the window
with quiet prayers.
A year or two can pass in a second,
as noiseless as yellowjackets
sampling daises.
I welcome that silence
containing hints...
SUPERNOVA by Alethea Jimison
Supernova
I wish that I knew to tell her that her laugh is a burst of light,
like a flashing supernova.
Her smile is the warmth of home.
The curve of her femininity goes on...
DEAR MAMA by Nikita Bhardwaj
Dear Mama
You told me I was born to be loved.
That I clawed out of the womb like a wild
thing, slick with my father’s breath
and the first smell of rain.
We were alone,...
PASSING TIME by John P. Drudge
Passing Time
In the vaguely
Haunted
Eventless days
Of wandering aimlessly
Over bridges
From bank to bank
Past smoky cafes
And cheap hotels
High on wine
And careless oblivion
Putting place
And tradition
Beyond the tangible
Striking
Of my tears
On cobblestones
As...