David Mathews Revenge Fantasy Last night, I dreamt that I beat the shit out of James Franco for ruining C.K. Williams for me, while all the time I thought about waking up to write this down. David Mathews writes & teaches from Chicago, Illinois.
Read MoreWendy Rathbone Shivering Shivering the moon from my shoulders I say to November let me in your cloud scrap home breathe the knife of you taste your chimney-smoke and rain your damp-armed trees and all their rag-patch sheddings that stroke the land. Wendy Rathbone has been scribbling her thoughts in journals since the age of 12 […]
Read MoreWendy Rathbone Dust The wind is made of ghosts, of last century’s dust where ruined cities sink into dunes of curled sleep. Wendy Rathbone has been scribbling her thoughts in journals since the age of 12 and has had over 500 poems published in various magazines and anthologies.
Read MoreLaura M Kaminski Hot After the fire in the garment factory overseas should we expect this season’s runway models to be adorned in sackcloth, ashes? More of Laura M Kaminski’s poetry can be found at arkofidentity.wordpress.com.
Read MoreJason Heroux Even the ground you’re standing on will grow up one day and no longer play with the old dark doll of your shadow. Jason Heroux is the author of Let Us Now Praise the Empty Parking Lot (White Knuckle Press, 2013).
Read MoreElizabeth McMunn-Tetangco Watermark When the thunderheads rise up like blood dropped loose in water why do I always think about your car, left in my driveway, four days later? Elizabeth McMunn-Tetangco lives in California and writes poems because she can’t figure out how to eat the sky.
Read MoreElizabeth McMunn-Tetangco Making It Even If I can swim across the pool same as throwing back a shot, and still feel nothing, why did you ask if the only place I cry is underwater? Elizabeth McMunn-Tetangco lives in California and writes poems because she can’t figure out how to eat the sky.
Read MoreGail White The Only Important Question Is there life after death, and if so does it mean there is a god, and if not, does anything matter except finding love on a cruise ship? Gail White lives in Breaux Bridge, Louisiana, where everything she writes is monitored by her black cat, Pushkin.
Read More