Mark Cunningham 11 Locales Even if the actor stands motionless and unblinking in front of a blank wall, you can tell the difference between a long close-up and a freeze frame. Having only one leg makes the starling seem to belong more to the air. Now when he sweeps the beach with his metal detector, […]
Read MoreChristopher T. George Swans rise from a lake at Sligo the morning he buries Da. Christopher T. George, born in Liverpool, UK in 1948, a resident of Baltimore, Maryland, USA, is an editor at Loch Raven Review.
Read MoreMatthew Thompson Incarnation Softball League I swear, I’d never thought about that specific part of a woman’s leg until I saw you playing softball after church last Wednesday. Matthew Thompson spends much of his time writing at a large desk in a small room in Louisville, Kentucky.
Read MoreJ C Olsthoorn black and blue I am beating myself black and blue and the ink of my words leave me bruised. JC Olsthoorn – born Montréal now Ottawa – creator of raw poetry coarse art – for forty years – creating writing lots some good enough tho to submit – what do you think? […]
Read MoreBernd Sauermann At Last Blame does not establish fault the way manhole covers are heavy and gravity is the nature of your problem and endings have a way of coming without fail. Absolute Zero I’ve been to the cold ovens of Dachau in winter. Bernd Sauermann has a chapbook titled Diesel Generator out with Horse Less […]
Read MoreTina Barry Dinner Amber spots the thatched roofs of Hansel and Gretel-like cabins, while inside birds pop from cuckoo clocks and families fumble over funny anecdotes, a green beam of moonlight mocking everything. Please free the writer Tina Barry, who is chained to a desk in Brooklyn, New York.
Read MoreM. J. Iuppa Still Life There is an art to passive living: stay here. M. J. Iuppa‘s most recent chapbook is As the Crow Flies (Foothills Publishing, 2008), and her second full-length collection is Within Reach (Cherry Grove Collections, 2010).
Read MoreLaura M. Kaminski First Rescue (for Morten) In a New Orleans parking lot graveled with shells from the mouth of the river, a four-year-old gathers, tells his father: we need to take these to the beach where they belong. Links to other poems by Laura M. Kaminski are available at arkofidentity.wordpress.com.
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