By Ahmad Al-khatat Sometimes, it’s better to leave the past unsaid to anyone untrusted when the ears hear nothing of delight but about a world that is breaking in pieces of dryness and moisture Little birds of heaven fly above the graveyard of unknown tombs Some of them were actually for friends we met below the … Continue reading Burnt Leaves
The Soul Mirror
By Ahmad Al-khatat You see me, you follow me slow as the night when it slaughters the sunset above the clear skies Golden danger that you hide appears sad from your eyes End me and allow me to die above the pool of my rusty blood I don’t want to be the soul mirror with a … Continue reading The Soul Mirror
a different elvis
By Wanda Morrow Clevenger at an after-funeral meal just one small town over one of the church ladies spoke of another young man also recently gone but by his own hand his parents had named him Elvis this was all I had to go on Wanda Morrow Clevenger lives in Hettick, IL. She … Continue reading a different elvis
weekend in Old St. Charles
By Wanda Morrow Clevenger at the Amerisports Bar & Grill a flurry of females in flapper frocks condoms glued to the bride’s veil Wanda Morrow Clevenger lives in Hettick, IL. She use to keep small birds but they continued to commit suicide on her watch. Now she randomly kills orchids.
Poems by Marc Carver
By Marc Carver DESTROY Give me just one one moment of pure joy wonder pure love just a needle's head a reversal of time let it sink into my bones that pure love even if it destroys me I walked to the big aviary in the park you could hear the noise of all those … Continue reading Poems by Marc Carver
Initiate
By Ryan Quinn Flanagan step forward mind the line it is there for your protection don’t blink answer truthfully let me know if you feel any pain give blood give your samples authenticity accepted step forward mind the line it is there for your protection… Ryan … Continue reading Initiate
You’re a Cage Fighter, of Course there is Blood.
By Ryan Quinn Flanagan The pregnant are ready to pop. Always expecting. Busy ants lead back to sugar. And there is this gym you train at in Brooklyn where they teach ju-jitsu as a first language. A striker shoring up their game. You’re a cage fighter, of course there is blood. Some of yours … Continue reading You’re a Cage Fighter, of Course there is Blood.
Walking on the Green
By Ryan Flanagan A man will only stop smoking when he thinks less of chimneys it is hard to give up on anything that is cool when you imagine yourself half as much me, I’m more like spoiled petroleum jelly or Oliver Twist’s sticky wet dream or Joan Crawford in Mildred … Continue reading Walking on the Green
The Jump
By Ryan Quinn Flanagan jump in a river jump because Van Halen said so jump to conclusions because of a faulty leg from the war that makes the VA hospital look like the Sears Tower on crack the way you limp through the front door and your wife tries not to look at … Continue reading The Jump
Mortar Dry
By Ryan Flanagan the weather down here is a scapegoat that cymbal you see is band leftovers my raucous stuffed into an aluminum air vent with comparable local rag circulation particle board fission taster squint shadows under numbered doors unruly marshland flooding over seven denarius hills hold my … Continue reading Mortar Dry
Academy of the Heart And Mind 