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Pot-shots- an Octet for the New Year

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Maybe all quarterbacks are shitwads.

You Were At Your Best with Strings Attached

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You were like a delicate lace that barely mentions the wrist. But you were also at your best with strings attached. Let me say this. If innocence is supposed to be so overwhelming as to do nothing on purpose, not carried away by sensatio

Need

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I need some fantastic news. I need some happy news. I need to feel happy. Need Fantastic Need Fantastical Need News Need Happy need happy news make happy news happy make ake

Love Story

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You are a warm winter Despite the presence of snow

Across from Margaret Atwood's House

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Been running so long You've been running so long I bet you can't remember What you're running from

The Tonight Show Starring Johnny Carson

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Mighta been a fake.

Let’s Us Not Exaggerate

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Call him a hobo or homeless or bum or junkie.

Brasita de Fuego

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I still picture her waving her bare arms and hands into the purple bellied clouds above the trees, her crooked smile, the spiraling silver maple seeds cascading soft circles around her determined reach, as though the very tree limbs shaping the sky above

Constable Pulce and the Sunny Dystopia

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Alessandro was no ordinary demon (what demon is?), insofar as he had Constable Pulce's number. In demonly fashion he had Pulce's number in a way Pulce himself did not.

Mosaic

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MOSAIC Your eyes coal-rimmed, busted, burned by betrayal. You and I, knee to knuckle, skinny with disorders and blurred around our edges. Challenged by our experience and the ash of past-love dusting the grate, the state, the…

Arcana Magi Pure Vol.6 - c.4

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Rumiko stood quiet, staring out at Mayumi slowly approaching the shrine. Keiko cast a spell at the structure before them while Emi stood before her sister calling out to her and Mrs. Saito struggled to pull Mayumi away.

YOU

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Why Can’t God Send Us Some New Kind of Animal?

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I guess the ultimate, penultimate failure would be to write a love poem that turned on everybody but you.

Two poems by Raquel Chalfi in translation

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On the Shore, Tel Aviv, Winter 1974 From the Songs of Crazy Dolores

Goodbyes

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The January Oak

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tiny banners, browned/ and wrinkled by time,

Central Washington State On Five Dollars A Day

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The tailfins of our ’57 Plymouth Fury dip and rock from the stress: Three boys—say no more?—jumping into the car. And Dad, loading suitcases into the trunk, working them around the steel cooler heavy with Cokes, root beers, ice. He slams the trunk lid dow

Lawyer Doctor

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When we're near, there is a black cloud, such as Sylvia Plath described in her unabridged journal, that semi-appeared in her rental cottage where she and Ted Hughes lived in Cornwall. The cloud filled the center of the room where she sat alone.

What's It To You

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Oh I'm melting all right, into a foul vapor rising from a dead volcano, not even able to spit fire, but only cold old frozen rock like dribbles of putrid plasma.

Crows and the Gunshot

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We'll Thelma-and-Louise it, I urged, Bonnie-and-Clyde it, she bettered, Sundance-and-Butch it, I proffered but she was already leaning in for a kiss.

A Brooklyn Tale

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"Everything except food and sex."

The Fourth Prague Defenestration: 4

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“So, vot you think?” Vladimir asked us. “You want to come see these paintings? This is once in lifetime chance. Not many left who know about these. And I know where they are.” All the while he kept looking around to make sure nobody was eavesdroppin

a poem by Darryl Price restructured by Samuel Derrick Rosen

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Indulgence

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I crave the confines of the convent

long goodbye

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where are you today?/ where you are is the one thing/ i love & cannot know

In the Parking Lot

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Maybe they considered themselves beyond redemption, or maybe they couldn't sit for that long.

Jonestown on a Global Scale

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Picture it-/ air not clogged with the shit// that makes Beijing the dark joke/ of the developed world.

the hungarian artist

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What led to the current situation was that about a year ago the conceptual artist had been shocked to read in a small item in a newspaper that a conceptual artist in China had also grown an ear on his forearm and this discovery had led the conceptual artist to make a …

Friends

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I reach out and grab a can of soup with each hand and spin them around to dive into this much-heralded sodium situation. It's a landslide. I almost smile as I put low sodium back and continue to hold tightly onto regular.

Soliloquies of Mr. and Mrs. Macb.

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A small bar of glycerin soap floated in the sink full of bloody water . . .