The Scar We relaxed on a couch in mild coolness of a thermostat registering 84 degrees. It was all the air I could afford on limited income, in the stale, dank oven of South Texas in the middle of a record August. Beads of sweat trickled down both of our foreheads, television on, (something comedic, […]
Read more "Dr. William Kilgore ~ The Scar"Dark Water Keeps Moving The Black River winds through the Pee Dee,dark with cypress and cedar,holding more than it shows.They say it remembers everything—storms, prayers, loss. I believe it. I have stood beside it long enoughto see how it carries what it toucheswithout ever turning back. I moved through my own wreckage—grieving a love I […]
Read more "GINNY BROWN ~ Dark Water Keeps Moving"Iron Forest Copper trees scrape the heavens.Their origins are entwined among electrical circuits and cables.metallic leaf clinksWind humming a lullaby of electrons and rust.I wander under thinking branches,their shadows moving like real equations,and hear the whisper of bark remembering centuriesCopper veins preserve its memory.Steel and glass birdssinging in binary, pecking at wiresAnd for a moment […]
Read more "Ayesha Mansoor ~ Iron Forest"A palindrome: 194 pounds I weigh as much as a thick, pot-bellied pig I look like a bloated pear, a spinning top I seize the first seat on the bus without shame I take up space now I no longer ask, Will I die? but rather Which parts? Will any of my pre-maternal identity survive? Mary, […]
Read more "Raquel Fletcher ~ A PALINDROME: 194 pounds"Apology of a missile I didn’t do it, I was provoked. They started it, in 1948, I believe. Then I calmed down. I thought I was a deterrent. They would have understood. In the end, I have nothing to do with it.They expanded: from one tile, they took over the entire house. They didn’t invade it, […]
Read more "Dr. Matteo Preabianca ~ Apology of a Missile"Mini-festo When one of my favorite teachers told the class, “Calling it art merely means, ‘I like it a whole bunch,’” you don’t know how much that freed me. I liked that class a whole bunch— so I damn well better call it art. Ditto that little dance you did just for me, the sun […]
Read more "GEORGE YATCHISIN ~ MINI-FESTO"This always ends in a question Suppose it’s not a place. What do you mean by that? You talk about it like you’ll be walking around in a celestial snowstorm, without the cold. Maybe, this is all just costume, cheap jewelry that tarnishes and we move on to another existence in a new […]
Read more "CRAIG KIRCHNER ~ this always ends in a question"Archaeologist, Marauder, Husband If I were tiny I’d plant a shovel in your heart and excavate the rocky flesh. I’d shimmy an awl around the stubborn stones. I’d even light itty bitty sticks of dynamite if I came upon a boulder that didn’t belong. I’d dig ‘til I find the alcove he hides in, the […]
Read more "CODY SCHWEICKERT ~ Archaeologist, Marauder, Husband"Mile of Music Standing downwind of a cityfilled with song and all I can smell is the ashof Canadian wildfire but can just make out the soundof alcohol beneath the traffic carried in from the Easton a railroad staccato of blues-soaked countryechoing from an open bar while a punk-rock woah-woah-woahwafts from the southern river bank– […]
Read more "RANDY STREU ~ mile of music"Art Exhibition The egg box was so sculptural, a mirror of life in textured paper, almost a work of art. And then I remembered the glasses left behind in a museum of modern art by error or intent, real glasses, not the “ne sont pas les lunettes” Magrittean sort, I could feel some guerrilla art […]
Read more "LYNN WHITE ~ Art Exhibition"
