poetry
Weeping may last through the night, but joy comes with the morning (Psalm 30:5)
The charlatan bilked them // Out of what they’d said was sacred. // The lion's teeth specialize in cutting meat.
midwife and pieces
By M. Frost
stumble // through snow // mounds // belly-deep // form // elemental // letters
living for a while
living for a while in a hospital // is living in the world of footsteps // and changing emotions.
Bang, Summer coming, and the colours, and Mark
By DS Maolalai
it's october. fireworks bang // like cracked knuckles.
In Situ
It was there all along: // a knot beneath the skin, // a stranger's tongue in darkness
Hypnotizing Chickens
One Saturday afternoon in the shoulder // season between calving and haying
let us cast lots, and can't we have a lesbian love story where no one dies?
I hate rich people, // my son says, spat // from the belly of the bus // that each day returns him // to dry land
Rue
By Arjun Khade
In her woman's world, a virtual wombniverse; her vultcherish watchers wild in their flickering half-dreams of fleshy lust and crimson joy.
brine, this is a Bauhaus love affair, and there are foxes now
By Lucinda Trew
snow is coming // so are trucks carrying // glacial tons of salt to season // winter and cure streets // with brine
Becoming a Believer and NFPA 70E
The locals, believers of gods, drink tsipouro long into the night // And brag to me about how lucky they were to be born here