Pere Lachaise

Griffin Elliot

Bury me

In Pere Lachaise

With my sunglasses on

So my grave will read

“He lays as he lived:

Cool and collected.”

And between the tombs

While leaves fall

And flowers wilt

My bones will become

Part of the

Moveable Feast

About the Author

Griffin Elliot is 30 years old. He lives happily in New Jersey with his wife, dog, and cat. Griffin is currently writing his master’s thesis on U.S.-China economic relations for NYU’s GSAS International Relations program. In his spare time, he manages tours for rock bands.

Instagram: @griffinjelliot

Twitter: […]

Pere Lachaise2023-05-11T17:16:32+00:00

lovely morning

Griffin Elliot


    SW     A   BS

Floating through




Black tar roof shingles

Break orderly atop

             CLEAN GROUT RED

                 BRICK HOUSES.










Lovely morning.

By       Griffin


About the Author

Griffin Elliot is 30 years old. He lives happily in New Jersey with his wife, dog, and cat. Griffin is currently writing his master’s thesis on […]

lovely morning2023-05-11T17:16:42+00:00

After a Very Boring Date


This was not worth coming out in the rain.

You tell me about your work as an attorney, defending investment banks and hedge funds.

From whom?

The government.

Oh, right.

I want to break the lip of the wine glass between my teeth just to have something to do.

You soft man, with your voice too hard to hear in this hot bar, and your constant allusions to being too old to have fun:

Have you ever bitten into a rare steak and sucked the juice through your teeth until the meat is dry […]

After a Very Boring Date2023-12-26T20:22:06+00:00

Wild Dogs Know My Name

Donna J. Gelagotis Lee

Feeble dogs are licking my name

in the dirt. They are taking on

personas. I feel a bark rising

in my throat. I sense a pack / pact


mentality. I want to stalk and

circle, cower, and whimper. I want

to chase and pull with my teeth.

I want to lick myself, smell my own


cleanliness, smell others and tell of their

intentions. If I come up to you and nip,

will you kick / kiss me? Will you yell /

yelp? I feel my hairs matted down, my


tail / tale starting to wag. I don’t lag /

lack ambition, […]

Wild Dogs Know My Name2023-12-26T20:21:18+00:00


Aida Bardissi

(iii) عودة

عودة إلى الحب // return to love

i am a passport; a blood orange. i want to sit in your back pocket; an imminent stain;

let’s make up (out) a border & call it a nation — PEEL ME OPEN

ya 7obbi, let the pith of me perfume your skin; Andalusian ancestor;

i want to exist with you in a time before bodies knew flight; knew paper 

knew knew knew how to eat                   […]


Whereabouts Unknown

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 […]

Whereabouts Unknown2023-05-10T14:40:29+00:00

run rabbit

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)



not all who wander


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 […]

run rabbit2023-05-10T14:40:36+00:00


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


through the walls, climbing between

the tracks and they have



and bright eyes, and are graceful



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 […]


No, or Reflections on California After an Absence of Years

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
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.”
It is
Not the sameness of
The jeans so
Crisp and dark and paired
With a sweater or a
Light jacket wrapping
Thin and graceful body
In the park
And no it is not
The calm and happy tone
With which […]

No, or Reflections on California After an Absence of Years2023-05-10T14:44:14+00:00

Out of Control

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, […]

Out of Control2023-05-10T14:44:23+00:00
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