Howie Good An Unfortunate Juxtaposition It’s heartbreaking and difficult to hear about, but beached whales attract sharks, and that’s when she called the cops, the three worst things you can do. Howie Good is still on the pavement, still thinking about the government.
Read MoreHowie Good Overdose 2.0 There are many places where a person can get lost and not even realize it until they are lost for good, but maybe you did find hints along the way, seeing things that weren’t there, the occasional escalator going up into a vagina, and if so, it would have been like […]
Read MoreHowie Good To My Father, Who Asked What My Poems Mean Little, very little, almost nothing in fact, just the blind howls of a barren woman giving birth to something unexplainable in a dark corner of the attic. One of Howie Good‘s latest books is Hitchhiking Through the Apocalypse (Grey Book Press).
Read MoreMegan Bushey Alas! Our Limitations! If the alpaca could fist-bump, it would. Megan Bushey grew up in Vermont but is currently living in Pittsburgh, PA working as an editor for the After Happy Hour Review.
Read MoreJ. R. Solonche One Cannot Use One cannot use a pen and a pistol at the same time, and that is all I have to say on the subject of poetry as therapy. J. R. Solonche has been publishing in magazines, journals, and anthologies since the early ’70s and is author of six collections of […]
Read MoreKarlo Sevilla Wisp Candle flame flickers and quickly you turn from flesh to silhouette and weave through the curtains then exit the open window and float above the storm-swept garden where the frogs that survived the devastation insist to stay and croak aloud undying love to one another. Karlo Sevilla writes from Quezon City, Philippines, […]
Read MoreLarry Schug Job I carry my burdens, sing my songs, hold goodness within, not much different, it seems, than a common wooden chair, the bells of a working clock, an ordinary vessel of clay. Larry Schug says, “I could be considered old, though I am terminally immature.”
Read MoreBill Yarrow Life Life is a brazen Chevrolet in whose locked glove compartment Death, disguised as a map of New York State, lies curling at the edges. https://billyarrow.wordpress.com/ is a website, not a sentence.
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