Jason Heroux Today equals today Today equals today plus the orange peel minus the orange. Jason Heroux is the author of Let Us Now Praise the Empty Parking Lot (White Knuckle Press, 2013).
Read MoreDale Wisely
Howie Good: Splay
Howie Good Splay I almost prefer the beach in winter, no spluttering boats cluttering the outlook & only an occasional slanderous dog loping over the sand ahead of its owner, the ocean seeming, if possible, bigger & the light holier because so much emptier, & even the bent blades of beachgrass rusting along the crestline […]
Read MoreKaren Greenbaum-Maya: Oak Apples
Karen Greenbaum-Maya Oak Apples Glossy leather skin shriveling to a dry planetoid smaller than an egg, falling back on its armature, cracks betraying craters, pinholes, the debut of forty-one departing gall wasps: the oak swelled this squat gray sphere to wall off seepage, wanting a prison, making a nursery. Karen Greenbaum-Maya, retired clinical psychologist, former […]
Read MoreNeila Mezynski: Lump
Neila Mezynski Lump No amount of hopping up and down on the rug her words are buried under will smooth it out. Neila Mezynski has books published from Scrambler Books, Nap, Folded Word, and Deadly Chaps Press.
Read MoreDeborah Finkelstein “Silent phone…”
Deborah Finkelstein Silent phone, wishing I hadn’t told you. Deborah Finkelstein is the editor of Like One, a poetry anthology that raises money for victims of the Boston Marathon bombing.
Read MoreFred Longworth: Two Poems
Fred Longworth Modern Dating There are a couple of things I didn’t mention in my profile. To My Ex From you I learned how touch, unnourished, sheds the letter “t”. Though Fred Longworth no longer wields a tin cup, he continues to write and publish widely.
Read MoreDavid Kinsey: A Well-timed Appearance
David Kinsey A Well-timed Appearance I can’t decide Which is stronger: Your love for me Or this restraining order? David Kinsey tends bar in San Diego and parties with his pet corgi Pietro Crespi.
Read MoreBrad Rose: My Toughest Critic
Brad Rose My Toughest Critic As my desk drawer glides gently shut, I take cold comfort in knowing its rectangular, oaken darkness, alone, has read all my poems. Brad Rose was born and raised in southern California, and lives in Boston. Links to his poetry and fiction can be found at: http://bradrosepoetry.blogspot.com/
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