by Brett Stout After she annexed her existence and the Crimea confessions as oxymoron’s were written in dead languages on blank Post-It Notes left in empty carriages as the broken dams filled with neon ghetto […]
by Brett Stout The metallic neon blood laden American concrete and grass, Ohio is now singed, safety pinned accessories and mementos of future present and past enthusiastic wars, black tie dinners and cheap gas masks […]
by Brett Stout The trending of negative scars, the warzone isn’t out there it’s in here, the militant swans of the underground resistance movement renting ghetto apartments with bad credit and worse souls in an […]
The girl who invited me
to live in her tent camp
so she could teach me Chechen
sat staring in the corner,
fearing that any motion
might trigger an explosion.
Grozny’s flats were levelled.
Dolls lay disembowelled on the floor.
Glass shards covered the earth.
The road’s yellow ribbon rolled
like a carpet, limning the edge
of my escape to Vladikavkaz.