Category: poetry
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False Liberation
by John Grey In this rescue of a dream, the door’s flung open, all guards are fast asleep, there’s light at the end of the corridor, stairs leading up to the world, friends waiting with a fresh horse, a splendid gallop into the highlands, through the mountain pass, and into the euphoric land of my…
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Stun
by Shawn Anto hummingbirds like to drink from the trumpet-shaped flowers. and the buzzing bees like the broad flat flowers like the marigold. they drink and wallow ‘til they are covered all over with nectar. you follow a bee from one flower to the next, see which direction they go, eventually, finding its home. the…
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Remembering Lance
Stephen Jackson lives and writes in the Pacific Northwest, where he divides his time between Washington and Oregon. His poems have most recently appeared or are forthcoming in The American Journal of Poetry, HelloHorror and Impossible Archetype.
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Little Bird
by Anushka Bidani i. how terrifyingloneliness can feellike a dumb mouth shaping wordsinto an empty void. ifold papers intro cranes, setthem on the table, waitingfor guests that never arriveon time. ii. how terrifyingdiscomfiture can feellike acid in your blood burningyou from the inside-out. ispeak a little less, tracingpatterns on painfully softunscarred flesh. iii. how terrifyingliving…
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Michael | Stoned
by Stephen Jackson He is most certainly not the line stretched taut for clothes from back porch to telephone pole in a scorch of August tar-melt gripping wood and rusty hook— a perch for two black birds. He may be, however, the thought of it—everything hanging slack in this heat, he is more or less…
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The Deluxe Angels
by Daniel Hotham I’ll pass through June on a sled Splayed out while light fragments break through a lazy fog. My mind gets shot for a while So I don’t know what any of the lights might mean Maybe I’ll catch a few looks at the sun for a few hours It’s just a question…
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Something The Blue Teenager Sold You
by Michael Igoe Something the blue teenager sold you left you high and dry, priceless, alone with memories of evil meals and your handcrafted tattoo. A thing that amounts to ceaseless rain, by sleight of hand, the blue teenager sold you something: a cause for wonder, a good luck charm, as you loitered in the…
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Beach Memory
by Rickey Rivers Jr. On the beachI should havejust thrown myselfinto the ocean.That would haveat least been somethingI could rememberthat wouldn’t bea memorytainted by you.&& Rickey Rivers Jr. Rickey Rivers Jr was born and raised in Alabama. He is a writer and cancer survivor. His work has appeared in Three Drops from a Cauldron, A…
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The Wind and What It Wheels
by Tucker Lieberman A thousand mini-flags fly underwater,isolationist at their core.All mouth, you barnacles,eating the tide, salt tongues waggingdivided selves,shutting your doors to keep out the wind.Away whip the sandcastles—the beach scatters, reforms.Someone is picking you up,trying to turn you around,but you’re barnacled under this boat.Lines in the sky crosshatchmisbegotten glyphs.They are seagulls,they are everywhereintermittently.Here…
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A Citizen
by John Grey He fell, face cracked against sidewalk harder than a Nolan Ryan fast ball. Time passed. Dazed and nauseous, he made animal cries for help. He tried to stand, staggered, thumped into a pole and dropped to the ground again. He was found with a parchment face, tongue hung to his mouth’s side…
Dream Noir 