Eli Coyle
My face feels like an emotional relief map
forever wet
My pockets are full of handkerchiefs
that never dry
My green corduroys lie crumpled
on the hardwood floor
saved for later
our bodies wrapped
in the wax of each other
In the mornings the sky cracks open egg clouds
raining private rain
cloud hidden
whereabouts unknown
where I live alone like pith in trees—
mindless like tumbleweed
mindless like sages
Some days I carry on like a responsible hermit […]
Nathaniel Chew
I am saying it:
this poem is about loss
and still
it will read at a slant–
metaphor for:
social distance
death (duh)
mistranslation
digitalization
not all who wander
diagnosis
the gloaming realization that writing does not happen out of time
the trouble with deixis: fat fingers
W.V. Quine on radical translation: the linguist says gavagai and means rabbit
the subject says gavagai and means first-rabbit-of-the-warm-waxing-moon
or dewlap-yet-undetached-from-rabbit
or rabbit-which-means-plenty-and-draws-teeth-from-afar
or run
and means herself to escape the subject position
I want to […]
Anna Laura Falvey
I stand with the god, rooted
beside me on the subway platform–
As the stage, I smear my face
with mourning grime.
My grinning,
sweet deerhead god licks their thumb
and forefinger and traces a line
of clean down
the bridge of my nose,
and I smell dry ice. I look
to my left, and women are
stepping
through the walls, climbing between
the tracks and they have
talons
and bright eyes, and are graceful
rippers.
I inch closer to the deerhead–
hold their cold marble hand, feel
talons in my forearm, talons in
my cheek, talons in the soft skin
of my diaphragm,
smiles in my eyes,blind in my fingers,
and […]
Lex Kosieradzki
No no no
No no
And a thousand times
No it is not
The burned grove
Of incense cedar down there
In the valley as far
As the eye can see and
No
It is not
The crashed and burned and
Totally damaged beyond
Recognition Prius there marked
By cones in the ditch
And no
It is not the sentence
“He’s actually a preeminent figure
In the NFT art scene.”
No
It is
Not the sameness of
The jeans so
Crisp and dark and paired
With a sweater or a
Light jacket wrapping
Every
Thin and graceful body
In the park
And no it is not
The calm and happy tone
With which […]
Selena Cotte
In many ways I am like a bomb
and I do fancy myself the comparison:
What I would give to be as smooth,
curved & dangerous. Don’t get me
wrong: I have some ways to go.
I want to be planned like the bomb.
I want precision, […]
Jade Wootton
Shallow breaths in my chest pulse like a hummingbird’s wings
So I decide
I am going to walk the same route every morning without my phone
I am going to watch the big brown dog jumping up the tree trying to catch the squirrel
I am going to notice the neighbors that left their Christmas decorations up for months
I am going to remember the cat purring on my chest and the way my little gold earrings camouflage into the little gold bowl on the nightstand
I am going to wonder if CBD peach rings actually […]
Mary McCarthy
Don’t patronize
don’t tell me there are no rules
when I seem to have broken
most of them, enough to think
it would be wise to post a sign
“Rocks Falling,” “No Guard Rails,”
I’ve kept both fire and laughter
close to hand, could smell
your lies before I saw you
rejoiced in kicking over buckets
of white paint, smashing glass,
defying regulations that kept
things too neat and civilized–
More than once I’ve been stopped,
locked up, confined, limited
to a small space without air
or sharp objects able to cut
cloth or rope or flesh-
all the signatures of prison
holding me back from breaking
all those nameless […]
Mary McCarthy
All teeth and tongue
stain the stolid morning
a still ocean white
as milk lapping
toes half hidden
in swallowing sand
hand me over your
clever heart split
scissoring past teeth
Ben Nardolilli
in your country
I wait
for a response:
“best regards
for more
information”
-if you are
willing to work
together
I am looking
to invest
in real estate-
About the Author
Ben Nardolilli currently an MFA candidate at Long Island University. His work has appeared in Perigee Magazine, Red Fez, Danse Macabre, The 22 Magazine, Quail Bell Magazine, Elimae, The Northampton Review, Local Train Magazine, The Minetta Review, and Yes Poetry. He blogs at mirrorsponge.blogspot.com and is trying to publish his novels.
James Bradley
Though days of persecution be endless,
Though nature denude you, clown, of your art–
Fall back to the foxholes of nothingness.
The power that restrains Mind is mindless,
Fool, in your upside-down hanging take heart–
Though days of persecution be endless.
Though the river-hewn canyon be cleftless,
At the coming of erosion’s upstart–
Fall back to the foxholes of nothingness.
Limp flags from a dead tree hang motionless,
Awaiting the day far-off winds depart–
These days of persecution seem endless.
Mind is the law that rejects mindlessness.
Mind’s sole doctrine is to Mind’s law impart–
Fall back to the foxholes of nothingness.
Through a chink […]
