From Let The Wind Push Us Across by Jane Schapiro

Tent Sometimes in the morning, before opening my eyes, I dream of our tent, that tiny green dome. From behind its walls thin as skin, I hear birds, leaves, a brush of wind. I yearn...

I Want to Write About the N-Word by Alina Stefanescu

I want to write about nipples even though no word is safe I write about nipples because they make me uncomfortable and the things I cannot touch with my eyes look...

James Hampton, The Throne of the Third Heaven of the Nations Millennium General Assembly...

Tossing away sandwiches, chewing gum, cigarettes, he made his heaven from wrappers, commerce’s carapace. Who would discard the meat of the thing: shake out the book and bow to the empty jacket, feed...

On Leave by Shari Jo LeKane-Yentumi

Only whiskey burns the sorrow as she grieves. Purple velvet once surrounded golden dreams. Both a season and a reason left on leave. Now a memory left blank before what...

Two Poems by Miles David Moore

L’Auteur Fatslug   Fatslug wonders how people dreamed or daydreamed before the movies infiltrated their thoughts. He himself has become his own Steven Spielberg— or, depending on his mood of the...

Must Read

- Advertisement -