henry 7. reneau, jr. The Book of Hours The sun sets on enhanced interrogation, even as it rose, exponentially, on drone strikes, like the sum of collateral damage became a euphemism, beyond our peripheral vision, & we held the shining black eye of history in our mouth, as if we imagined God in our every […]
Read MoreScott Hughes Visitation My brother sits across from me in the prison visiting room, his jumpsuit the color of coffee-stained teeth, and says, “Keep the letters coming. Whenever I read them, I’m free.” Scott Hughes typically writes fiction much longer than one sentence. https://www.writescott.com/
Read MoreKaren Stanislaw Where most are too shy or numb to investigate, you lodge, mossy and shadow, awaiting dictation. Karen Stanislaw, fighting for her right to poet, is in current wrestle with – relatives and muddier Saturnian forces – the idea that she’s not honored “enough” survival and security concerns.
Read MoreZandra Mink-Fuller Last Nerve The lady sitting at the counter rubbing her straw up and down against the apparently empty Styrofoam cup, sent my last nerve into the empty space of the diner where Ruby’s young innocent hands once served me hot bitter coffee with a smile and a flounce of her copper colored pony […]
Read MoreAustin Davis White Flowers Some might miss that split second when your eyes drop their blinds and your lips begin to open but for me, as the clouds decide to rest and every car stops for gas, it’s like noticing that first whiff of summer air as it pauses beneath my skin. Austin Davis is […]
Read MoreLissa Perrin Midnight Under the silk nightgown her fingers worry the lump like a rosary bead, counting the hours until dawn. Lissa Perrin is a psychotherapist and occasional writer of poetry from Ann Arbor, MI.
Read MoreLissa Perrin His Retirement Possessed of newfound time and energy to take on the basement, he’s filled with enthusiasm for sorting and tossing and facing me with long neglected boxes packed with my other lives. Lissa Perrin is a psychotherapist and occasional writer of poetry from Ann Arbor, MI.
Read MoreSteve Klepetar Odysseus In one motion he strung the bow the suitors could barely bend, and he shot them down in a cold rage, so why, when he sailed for Troy, did he leave such a weapon behind? One sentence poems almost always make Steve Klepetar smile.
Read More