José Enrique Medina Faith The landscape was so silent, I could hear my heart’s beat repeating its two syllables, “Believe, believe.” Fe El paisaje era tan silencioso, yo podía escuchar el latido de mi corazón repitiendo sus dos sílabas, “Cree, cree.” When he is not writing, José Enrique Medina enjoys playing with his piglets, bunnies […]
Read MoreIan Willey A Show on A.I. The host says it’s only a matter of time before they render me me redundant. Ian Willey is a teacher and daydreamer from Akron, Ohio.
Read MoreDarrel Dionne Butterfly pinned, spread winged and motionless, Is precisely not a butterfly. Darrel Dionne is a retired social worker and part-time poet who writes a lot of one sentence poems.
Read MoreSarah White The Vanishing Weep for the tiny nematodes, diatoms, corals, and crustaceans lost though we don’t know most of their names yet, let alone how we’ll get along without them now that they’ve passed into extinction leaving homo sapiens, the knowing man, alone with his brain finding light waves from fourteen billion years ago […]
Read MoreJohn Grey Race-Car Driver He’s at the wheel, helmet for a head, fire-suit for a body, while large silver pipes like dragon mouths with roaring red breath pursue him on an oval track, lap after lap after lap. John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident. Recently published in Fall/Lines, Euphony and Columbia Review with […]
Read MoreBoris Kokotov Absence is God’s middle name, his first name lost in translation. Boris Kokotov lives in Baltimore where he writes poems and short stories that appear in periodicals.
Read MoreTarun Cherian The Runaway Smile My smile walks away from me, Boards the train bound to Sakleshpur, claims its seat, Next to the mami (auntyji) from Malleshwaram, who pulls out a tiffin filled with murkus, Homemade which you have to say no to with salivating mouth, (Nowadays you know train thieves drug and leave you naked […]
Read MoreJ. R. Solonche Myopia The window, a sky composed of a single cloud somewhere near the sun, the desk lamp, a sun diffused through fog rising over a lake, the green blotter on the desk, a lake with rising fog, my glasses on the desk beside the green blotter, a bicycle rusting in the undergrowth […]
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