by Aba Abedin
Any poem I start with your name
smells like fire.
It is like living in a house that
has been burning for years
Aba Abedin: Poems 14 & 15
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Further From Home: Dopehead Theology II
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by Erik Rasmussen
Larry could practically see the dishonesty rippling wildly out, a toxic impression his behavior stamped into reality and would eventually, he just knew it, kill this relationship as the substance had killed so may emotions inside him.
Forgiveness on one shoulder, a killer on the other.
I’ve Got AIDS
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by Michael Wiener
I’ve got AIDS, man. Not sure how it happened. Life’s cheap, here. It’s funny, ‘cause this used to be a pretty vibrant neighborhood. Then they starved it on purpose, swear to God. Powers that be, the bankers, Mayor Koch, probably the Fed. NYC, Drop Dead, exactly right. They don’t give a shit.
To Sit on Sidewalks (A Conversation with Wang Ping)
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by John Casquarelli
Wang Ping’s Ten Thousand Waves is the telling of the migrant explorer’s story for survival. Packed with voices of the dead, Ping’s book reminds the reader how sacred each laborer’s life is in the face of unjust labor practices. Each person is more valuable than their labor, even when multinationals, banks, and political institutions act otherwise when...
Three Poems by Laura Metter
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by Laura Metter
He bowed, bent at hip like
a statue toppled by revolutionaries
or candle contorted by
its own flickering wick.
Liven Up Your Next Party with a Dark N Stormy Daniels™
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by Phineas Lambert
Need a cocktail to serve at your soiree? Bored by traditional options, old fashioned Old Fashioneds or Cosmopolitans that leave you feeling lost in suburbia? Then look no further than a Dark N Stormy Daniels™, enjoyed by drink connoisseurs since its long-ago invention in the seedy confines of a Lake Tahoe celebrity golf tournament.
Further From Home: Dopehead Theology
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by Erik Rasmussen
He took his time, enjoying the prep and process. He was in no hurry. It’s like getting high was as narcotizing as being high. Striking matches and relishing sulfur smoke and opening rubbing alcohol bottles and smelling ethyl fumes were its own kind of rush, a flood of natural adrenaline and dopamine ringing euphorically in his limbic system, an irony that did not go...
Nico Joana Weber: The Jungle in Architecture
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by Nico Joana Weber
Nevertheless, something like a baleful pollen in the air—a ghost pollen, impalpable rot, enveloping decay—suddenly became active with mysterious design, opening what was closed, closing what was open, upsetting calculations, contradicting specific gravity, making guarantees worthless.
Déjà Vu: Black Bodies Under Siege at the Cinema
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by Eboné Bishop
Fifty-six years later, James Baldwin's words remain true: "To be a Negro in this country and to be relatively conscious, is to be in a rage almost all the time. So that the first problem is how to control that rage so that it won't destroy you."
Three poems by WILLIAM CODY MAHER
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by William Cody Maher
You can know the Star Spangled Banner by heart
You can know what happened to your kids
What happened to your town after the flood, after the tornado,
after the life was kicked out of you
You can know a little or a lot about American history
Eight Poems by Carla Carlson
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by Carla Carlson
You have to wish me a happy birthday,
Claire says after her analyst says
“look what Duchamp has done
with his individuation process!”
Chrysalis
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by Wayne L. Miller
"And now?" Gregor asked himself, looking around in the darkness. He noticed the motion of a small insect reflecting the sudden light of his cell phone, having received a text from Gertrude, his occasional lover, asking to see him tonight. She has news. The insect flew beyond the screen when it darkened on its timer, the locked phone's setting being short...