Judy Kronenfeld Jet A silver gleam rises steadily in the grey-blue evening sky, like a mylar moon on speed, like my day after day unwaveringly out of reach. Judy Kronenfeld’s most recent books of poetry are Bird Flying through the Banquet (Future Cycle, 2017) and Shimmer (WordTech, 2012).
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Ken Poyner “Economic Mobility”
Ken Poyner Economic Mobility In a few years, with my own Capitalist endeavors spent and the last of my energy but a sliver of silver on a stray pond bottom, I could be redirected, wind up as some minor character on the dark side, a voice-over of myself, bent and steady and your very fine […]
Read MoreKen Poyner “Lot at Dinner”
Ken Poyner Lot at Dinner The place setting is for one, and with each month of sustenance I could tell you how progress like wool to be spun, Is made in salt. Ken Poyner has long since lost track of his youth, but is becoming familiar with his old age.
Read MoreJohn Hawkhead (Untitled)
John Hawkhead Tilting the bottle into the blur. John Hawkhead specializes in small writings. He lives in the South West of England. and his twitter site is @HawkheadJohn.
Read MoreJohn Hawkhead (Untitled)
John Hawkhead This summer dawn, even her rose thorns are soft with dew. John Hawkhead specializes in small writings. He lives in the South West of England. and his twitter site is @HawkheadJohn.
Read MoreH. Edgar Hix “Why I Use a Nightlight”
H. Edgar Hix Why I Use a Nightlight I want to see the boogeyman when he comes to get me to find out if he looks like a mirror. H. Edgar Hix is still watching this and that and writing about it.
Read MoreRachel Chen “Forecast”
Rachel Chen Forecast After my parents began falling out of love, I spent car rides imprinting my chin on the back window pane as rivets of rain marched determinedly, single-mindedly, downwards, a faint, dissonant harmony drowned out by the gentle slosh of our tires slicing across highways, rolling ceaselessly onwards. Rachel Chen spends most of […]
Read MoreWendy Cobourne “Swimming to Cambodia”
Wendy Cobourne Swimming to Cambodia I struggle to escape the seductive blurry pull of the undertow, to surface and shiver until I feel my skin is enough. Wendy Cobourne is a journalist and college writing tutor whose poems and short stories have appeared in a variety of literary journals.
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