Even when Death inhabits a poem, he does not own it. He is a squatter. In fact, Death owns nothing. – Todd Moore
blue neon blue neon the player walks the beat right off his bass powwowing from their shadows they seek a jazz savior his thought nestles under her breast shelf closing time’s last call Jeffrey Winke lives in Milwaukee, Wisconsin in Continue reading Blue Neon by Jeffrey Winke
Halves Celebrate monsters with allmate pardon——-— pardons (part-I-tion-ing) the Geek and the [E] Stonemen wobble into a friendship!!:, [———-DO NOT ADD TO POEM!———–]- Itimerary———–(?) Prepackaged Food Discourse Itinerary—––——(?) Prepancaked for This Course he’s all cakeglad, laying on timeline eating food Continue reading Halves & Two other new poems by Heath Brougher
Old soul I once read about a doctor, who said the human soul, weighs 21 grams … and smells like old vegetables. “Bat-shit quack” I thought at the time. Who weighs a soul? But today, I think the Doc is Continue reading Old Soul & Two other new poems by William Patterson
Humphrey Bogart tries to register at Trump University classses? we ain’t got no classes we don’t need no classes we don’t have to show you any stinking classes Taken from Things That Go Trump in the Night / Poems of Continue reading Humphrey Bogart tries to register at Trump University by Paul Fericano
Baba Yega Says All of you ‘longside the Bosporus, you should learn my proper name. Forget what your old Nana told you. I am not a woman. Slovaks, Russkis and Serbs, you Czechs and Bosnians, you Turks you’re mistaken about Continue reading Baba Yega Says by Rayfield A. Waller
Here’s your invite for the 8th issue of the Lummox Poetry Anthology and the Angela Consolo Mankiewicz Poetry Contest. But LISTEN UP there have been some changes … Reading cycle begins APRIL 1ST but it ENDS on APRIL 30, that’s right, you get ONE MONTH to Continue reading Lummox Poetry Anthology & the Angela Consolo Mankiewicz Poetry Contest
The Black Dog For Kassema It is said that it means many things, this hungry, wild black dog does. It’s said that he is the black dog of fear bristling, rabid, cruel this canine yet you ride him you make Continue reading The Black Dog by Rayfield A. Waller
If I were living … in Prague or Paris I would be an outsider without doubt … with nothing meaningful to say … my twenty-five maybe fifty words of Czech would be just enough to order beer or some sort Continue reading If I were living by D. A. Pratt
Position B The man in the comic book shop breeds luckless monsters into kings. If scene by scene wasn’t enough the skin is shaved to perfection. He has his clarity but he’s not concise. Customers drool with ecstasy. I can Continue reading Position B & Three other new poems by Parker G. Jamieson
Oedipus, Rex 1. I’m king wherever I am—king even of this broad-chested sea. I hear my mother behind me take each proud breath, As I retreat from creeping tides. Not a hope remains. She Whispers my triumphs. Yes, nothing left Continue reading Oedipus, Rex by Rayfield A. Waller