Even when Death inhabits a poem, he does not own it. He is a squatter. In fact, Death owns nothing. – Todd Moore
Speak, Michael Corleone, In Hell 1. From this hideous place into your living world, fearing no further dishonor, I will answer you. 2. In red fury I slew what I hated. I called down a weapon of righteousness like a Continue reading Speak, Michael Corleone, In Hell by Rayfield A. Waller→
The Waiting Room Off-white walls, full of leaflets and pamphlets The bolted down, hard wooden chairs To get through the glass door, we need a code and an escort A nurse to take us from here to there On both Continue reading The Waiting Room & Three other new poems by Ian Lewis Copestick→
Waiting For Resurrection The Grande Ballroom in Detroit dispensed music and sin seven days a week for six years, until it ran out of money. Even Ted Nugent sounded cogent while describing his love for the place. Alice Cooper, the Continue reading Waiting For Resurrection by Leah Mueller→
A Great Couple I like to give hand jobs, she smiled reaching down into my pants. What a coincidence, I said, I like receiving hand jobs. Well I guess we make a great couple then. I agreed. Then we Continue reading Great Couple by Ryan Quinn Flanagan→
Slipping off the Side Never holding, always holding up, down, back past the white-light knockout strike, the broken dishes, the failed vision. Always guilt as agency – sweet sun out of reach, when reached, just a hot huge stone that Continue reading Slipping off the Side by Allison Grayhurst→
Most Hated Jim had a way of making people hate him It never took armed robbery or viscous attacks He could just live out his dreams and mind his own business Hunted down by a local gang Disrespected by do Continue reading Most Hated by Robert Ragan→
A Spine in Need of Friends we both see the same thing I’m young I’m old i’m there i’m here I’m i’m I i always a spine in need of friends we all know who what where matters don’t hide Continue reading A Spine in Need of Friends & Two other new poems by James D. Casey IV→
Southern French Morning The good omen of migrating storks on the sandy banks. Open window shutters now blend boiled morning coffee with the ocean breeze. Peeling bark of diseased trees still displaying stubborn beauty. The silent and subtle touch of Continue reading Southern French Morning & Almost Always Christmas Again by Gwil James Thomas→
Beer Breakfast It’s the kind of morning that lets me know death isn’t such a bad thing. Its cold the world is peaceful minus the neighbors that never seem to mind polluting the environment with their noise. I am alone Continue reading Beer Breakfast by John Patrick Robbins→
your Editor your Editor is a troll homunculus succubus and incubus little succulent simulacrum beast Editor is your intimate nimbus you should be intimate Editor is your under side under you you should animal engage your Editor grab its buttocks Continue reading your Editor and 2 other poems by Henry Stanton→