Category: 03. November

–clast (to break) by Liza Bachman

Hands whose folds and creases _______spoke not of rail splits or nails A mouth whose cough sputtered _______angels into the dust of a long road I saw women dry his gentle _______feet with their hair I saw men covet _______and beg to know him…

Eyes like pigeons by Liza Bachman

Found in the last stall eyes swollen . . . . . . . gray, fat, glinting bloodshot considerate gaping wrists dangling in the bowl kneeling, poised, limp pallor . .What right? . . . . . What right? . . . . ….

Opheliac by Liza Bachman

There’s a special providence in the fall of a sparrow. xxxxxxxThe first time you overdosed xxxxxxxxxxxxxxit was a dead bluejay by the side of the road, xxxxxxxtwisted but unblemished, and I knew your taut lines had broken. Next it was a hawk lost in…

SOUNDS by elaine blodgett

The squeaking of the pail handle, the dogs’ bark and, in the distance, something more ominous. The doves I have been feeding all summer will now feed someone else. Such a world is not mine, but it’s not quite the shooter’s either. Years pass…

Searching for Scent by Jeanne P. Donovan

The trace is growing into fetor the flint that stained your hand with ash-burns drifts the room wears you as a drape the cat sniffs in circles searching for you in your scent his whiskers spring over the dress of the bed the skirt…

Inorganic by Steve Gerstung

We’ve met here before. I remember the skin I wore at the time Stored in my closet Along with the husk of words you assured promised our future

Refrigerator Art by Steve Gerstung

You stoop and scramble picking up pieces of myself   scattered on the floor refrigerator magnets of words and phrases you live to assemble telling you what you want to hear lifeless, silent arranged neatly thoughtlessly in a dissintegration of meaning.

DiggDigging by Peter Hugginsing by Peter Huggins

On the Bay of Naples Medwen’s bones Tell me that when Vesuvius erupted, Waves of lava covered her.  With my brush I uncover her and give her life back to her. In her arms she holds her master’s son, Who mouths a gold teething…

The Biltmore House Peace Accord by Peter Huggins

This house is preparation.  An atrium Of light invites us up a curved Marble staircase.  When we ascend, A long hall opens into a library With ten-thousand volumes and heaven Painted on its blue ceiling. A black limo crouches on the pebble drive. In…

The Naturalist Fabre Observes the Scorpions’ Dance of Death by Peter Huggins

The male approaches the female with caution. He wants to mate with her not serve as prey. If she accepts him, then he grasps her claws With his and they parade for hours. Sometimes the male ends this display as dinner, But not until…

legacy by Tobey Kaplan

Jan was sitting at a table in February of 1995 Enrico’s on Broadway  before her kidneys shut down completely I wrote out a check after talking with some people then sat down with her looking at her profile searching for her father trying to…

Amagon, Arkansas by Ed Madden

– after David Baker Small towns punctuate the highways leaving Newport, the county seat, their smallness a kind of grace. Everything has been left out to weather, a car on blocks, a plastic horse faded to dusty blue. To drive through is the prevailing…

Clay Marble by Ed Madden

It was the delicate blue of the phrase that held him, like a neutral sky in which the sun rests, a white clay marble, burnished pearl by palms and sweat, the marble he found buried in the soil of the barn near the house…

The difference the rain makes by Ed Madden

Bath, England, July 1992 Rain descends like afternoon. There is nothing to do but find a doorway, or a convenient shop, or walk into the English light, where girls in slickers of primary colors line up a covered stairway, waiting for the rain to…

A Fascination in On-Coming Cars by Michael McClintick

There is a certain fascination in on-coming cars Wheeling out of their subtangence to a curve Which arches unsubstantial to a partner on the move. There is in that severed second when the curve appears unreal, Magnetized self-conscience between bodies on the move Pulling…

Visiting the Globe Theatre by Michael McClintick

Effeminate male Antony kissing All female Cleopatra: She had balls And the asp to go with them. But we went to see The new Globe Theatre. They thought The play was good, I mediocre. And we agreed on the Globe’s Magnificence: a child’s crying…

The Gentle Fire by L. David Ryals

I bring the gentle fire That moves through you With the celerity of Spring time. In forgotten times, Covered by the mists Of fecund dreams dancing Beyond reach, your moist Thighs were the beacon That guided me home. I bring the gentle fire.