OF SCRIBBLING by Korkut Onaran
THE SECOND DAY OFTHE SECOND DECADE
The sun reappearsfrom behind the cloudsbeamijg into the narrow opening along the horizonto shine for a little whileon the face of the city.Then...
TAKE TEN by LG Pomerleau
How We See
“No telescope is more powerful than the prejudice of the person looking through it.”Kevin Ashton, How To Fly A Horse, 2015
The spider...
THE FROGS OF SUN YAT SEN UNIVERSITY by Miodrag Kojadinovic
Among the Lotophagoi
I ate lotus, (Full) Moon cakes,and yet the memory loss was onlythe expected fatigue of carbohydrate cells.Southern China was not Ogygia, what with the palms,mangos and...
BASIL by Gigi Guizado
Heart-shaped Vase
If my fragile heart should break,fill my ventricles with flowers;like bud vases for roses and peonies.That would please me.
If my swollen heart should...
CARDINAL SINS by Kushal Poddar
Cardinal Sins
One cardinal cheepsNear your sinful pane,Open in summer wind,
Near your bedpost failingTo disentangle the white shirtOf the other man. You wearThe black boxers,...
OLD SCHOOL by Sean Murphy
Ars moriendi
It’s true, she died peacefully, in her home.This is all she wanted; all we asked for(after asking for a great number of things,each denied in turn, by...
WORTHWHILE CREATURES by Nathan Tluchowski
worthwhile creatures
my poems don’t matterthe breasts of devils give ill milkand each tragedy of a big cunt or bad circulation can’tnullify:the dirty snow oraugered shitholescentralized heat orthe gigas...
HOW MUCH OF HISTORY IS TRUE by Randall Rogers
How Much Of History Is True?
Twixt lifeand deathbirth and evaporationlies inexplicable gleeand honest hopeless despair;steady the craft!too much is just enoughto determine holisticallya bigger pictureof despairredeemingdeath’s declinein euphonious...
MAPLE by Van Anderson
Birthday
I was a gift to mother years ago,seventy-four, to be exact, and sheturned thirty-five the day that I was born.We keep close track and number years becausewe are...
NARCISSISM by W. Colin McKay
BeerHey, Bartender! Over here!I need another beer.I’m trying to write a poemin this crummy barbefore stumbling to my carand heading to a homewhere I’m forced to disappear.Can’t write without a beer.
