Tag: Writing
Four Poems|Patricia Nelson
Giant He walks upon the world as if it were a line, a black one without width or nuance. Along the axis of the town, he steps among the hot and small who do not love his tall, black eye. They think the giant watches them, rakes them with his rank […]
Two Poems|Michael Ceraolo
Joseph Steele/Edward Brown et al We have slipped from history, mostly because we were known only to a few at the time We were the front men or the agents of dummy corporations who kept the price down when buying up the land necessary for Shibe, Ebbets, etc. to build […]
Mother’s Milk | M.A. Blickley| Flash Fiction
My lips tremble as if I am about to cry. Why do I constantly nurse wounds that open from my expectations of others? Sometimes, it feels like I’m the suckling of a Tin Woman who warns me she has no heart, yet dopamine builds with each puckered kiss. You lactate a complex flow of […]
The Dark-Cloaked Stranger|Marcy McNally|Poetry
The dark-cloaked stranger rattles the door of my cage, a messy fifth-floor studio, cluttered with uneven stacks of paper plates and plastic forks, laden with leftover scraps of brie and soggy crusts of pepperoni pizza, rations once savory and fresh shared with my bygone, young lover, the repast now rancid and stale. Empty bottles […]
Two Poems|Linda Crate
thorns of rage my legacy was never to be grovel at the feet of anyone not sure why you expected submission from the queen of chaos, but you did and i resisted; even cheated death when you sent your missives of darkness after me i just returned them to sender— […]
Two Poems|Kenneth Pobo
STROLLING WITH WALT Yesterday Walt Whitman and I visited the Arboretum, cold and snow sloppy, but he’s dead and feels fine. I’m alive and good conversation warms me up. Walt asked about my America–was it a land of promise? We can be sure of some promises–someone will die of gunfire. Everyday. We can be […]
Australians Invade Costa Rica|B. A. Mullin|Fiction
Australians […]
Two Poems|Karol Nielsen
New Yorker I remember the Peruvian band in the subway station when I first moved to New York. I stopped and listened and it was magical. I was so green then that a man on the subway platform said, You’re not from New York. I wondered how you acquired New York cool. I watched […]
Two Poems|John Grey
THE IMMIGRANT’S TALE How did I reach the wall? One day I’m living in this small shack in the jungle. The next, the battle between soldiers and rebels razes a nearby village. I know there’ll be no justice done. So, I head north with a purpose. May I come into your country? […]
Three Poems|Glen Armstrong
Requiem for Pandora She invented the sentence fragment and a new way of appearing humble. Her friends would stop by to coax her out of her funk. They tethered their dogs to a motorcycle parked in the shade. Only one of her eyes was misshapen. Overnight, the bricks would cool […]