Statement of Record


Four Poems by Len Lawson


We live on a graveyard arrowhead

where the Gullah battle haints and hags

and spirits of indigenous tribes

hover to claim what is theirs.

Four poems by Terese Svoboda


The old comedienne moves her mouth, she does her stretches, her deadpan- without-so-much-as-a-twitch, and she times it. [It’s all about timing]. Old means she’s timed a lot [she may have timed out]. She always wakes early with perfectly useable patter that doesn’t have a story behind it. An existential joke, tailless they call it in the business.

Four poems by Kathrin Bach


I wake up at five in the morning / 
because there is a rope moving up my neck / 
an eel that swims up to my father and back again / 
in the bathroom mirror my eyes are his /

Four poems by Jeffrey Cyphers Wright



TV anchors gab about binge-
watching, riots, and tattoos. 
The machine has a boo boo.
We are in some deep doo doo.

Blue jays peck red berries,
91 degrees and I am a sap.
Jupiter’s ma pushes old news:
It’s more fun with someone.

Okay, steeple chaser, let’s see
your stuff. Here’s a hot ticket 
for the...

Three poems by Seda Suna Uçakan


Travelers of musk

think the silence when you are silent!
think by tearing, splitting the tissues down

now I am still I am
deprived of your eyes, turn down
with going by the fade skin
it is the mystery of word
was that frightening wall built
by raising from the base


Four poems by Cihan Yurdaün


Afreet Son

soars high blistering
wings stitched with wax
into liquid ache
arctic touch is the wind
the inevitable plunge to gin
induced reveries
the scorching sins
born, burnt and belied
in the hollow mind
of a-freed flight
pure sorcery is love



Two Poems by Gonca Özmen



I’m quite blurry. Suppose it’s Thames.
Suppose my mind diminishes in front of a naked woman
Suppose I’m running among llamas
Suppose my legs got longer wrapped around history
Suppose I found myself speaking a bleary language this morning
Suppose there are two swirls on red carpets I cannot choose which one to fall onto
Suppose I called you in the middle...

Sites of Consecrated Potentials


By Murat Nemet-Nejat

“Ideas are consecrated potentials in concrete form.”

            Paranoia’s Infinity       
Dying, I’ll not happen.


I knew it as such


By İlhan Sami Çomak

From Hymns Written by Cats

The dark side of the mountains
was a color jealous of blue, I knew it as such.
Like a clumsy rock, I split the air into two
I whistled
I liken whistling to horses.
With a slice of bread whose surface gives meaning to heat
Among all kinds of smells
the breath of silence breaks the waves
at the...

Two poems by İlhan Sami Çomak


It’s for this reason

It’s for this reason I slashed my face.
By placing the resonance of a letter
in the space between us and the sun.
“Laugh!” I said to rebellion’s tired face.
“I’m reconciled with this matter, now.”
You know, like drawing a sketch and then staring,
asking, is it an apple, apricot, pear?
Saying, it’s a plum! in that tone that’s...

Two Poems by Caroline Stockford


Walk like an Ephesian

I used to hang out at the House of Love
its signage a heart in marble, a foot
for direction. Once there,
mosaics of the seasons.
I’d sit on windowsill empty of glass, house
vacant of senators. Listening 
to tour guides’ musical schpiel
telling how leading lights 
of this house of love 
sallied forth to front
the annual...

Night Terrors


By Sevda Akyuz

almost but not quite
sounds like an apt
description of all things I
went through
          under and above 
          in and out
          up and down
but mostly down

mossy stone
by the...