Poetry

Mannequin by Charlie Robert

Plastic Bone.Works AtNight.All Alone.Outta Sight.Thinks AboutHerLifeOnLoan.ThinksAboutHerSaxophone.Thinks AboutHerHighHeelDress.ThinksShe KnowsShe KnowsWhat’s Blessed.Mannequin.Plastic Bone.Calls MeOn HerTelephone.Tells MeOf HerTimeOnEarth.Tells MeOf HerVirgin Birth.Hopes That She CanSplitTheScene.HopesThe LightTheLightTurnsGreen.HopesThe Line Is NiceAnd Short.HopesSheLikesHerNewEscort.Mannequin.Plastic Bone.Works AtNight.All Alone. Continue reading Mannequin by Charlie Robert

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Poetry

The Gavel by Susie Gharib

If I had a cosmic gavel,I would chip away the rough edgesof every monarch and politician,such as their territorial incursions,their inordinate desire for military aggression,their race for lethal armaments,their inherited urge for colonialism,their cultivated skill of turning a blind eye to corruption,their sadistic pleasure in imposing censorship,their patriarchal urge to bully women,and their propensity to overlook racial prejudices.The outcome would be blocks of ashlarthat boast … Continue reading The Gavel by Susie Gharib

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Poetry

Obelisks by Susie Gharib

At the intersection of ley lines,erected in pairs at temple sides,these stone pillars that point to the skiesare the Egyptians’ tribute to solar gods. Repeatedly looted by Greeks and Romans, these tekhens are unjustly deprivedof the sites aligned to the stars,robbing them of their electro charge.In Rome, they witnessed the persecution of Christians,In Paris, the guillotines that severed countless heads. What is a tribute to Atum … Continue reading Obelisks by Susie Gharib

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Criticism, Essay

Chiara Barzini’s Things That Happened Before the Earthquake Reminds that Italians “Out West” Have, In Many Regards, Always Had It Rougher When It Comes to “Assimilating”

Perhaps the first thing one must emphasize in talking about the Italian diaspora in the United States is that East Coast Italians are very much their own race of people now, entirely separate from Italians themselves (the real ones that arrived in the 1880s for the first wave of immigration). And they certainly seem to like it that way—are even proud of the “standalone” “culture” … Continue reading Chiara Barzini’s Things That Happened Before the Earthquake Reminds that Italians “Out West” Have, In Many Regards, Always Had It Rougher When It Comes to “Assimilating”

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Prose Poetry

Broken Dreams: A Lexicographer Picks Up the Pieces by Robert Witmer

The judgment of death lowered upon all at the beginning of Genesis contains essentially everything that can be said about power.  —Elias Canetti What is beautiful for Nature herself is the all-encompassing necessity of now. Life. Spring. Leaves. Move. Without the wind. Milkweed on ICE. The cream of the crop. Curdled. Art walks a tightrope between nature and eternity. The point is not to make … Continue reading Broken Dreams: A Lexicographer Picks Up the Pieces by Robert Witmer

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Prose Poetry

Dada by Robert Witmer

To undress the corporate swindle and have him ride a stumbling donkey over palm branches strewn about in a hurricane such that the multitude might see what difference makes. Humbly to fit a natural self. To make real language possible again. Absolute reality is a calendar carved in snow, ticking like a time bomb. Dew on a mossy grave. Spring’s stultification of digital progress. Virga. … Continue reading Dada by Robert Witmer

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Criticism, Essay

Holden Caulfield as Early Prototype for the Modern-Day Incel/Generally Disaffected Male

Seeing as how the seventy-fifth anniversary of the publication of The Catcher in the Rye occurred on July 16th, there’s been the usual amount of “honoring” the book and its ongoing legacy. But it seems that one legacy about it that still doesn’t get talked about enough is just how much Holden Caulfield served as a blueprint for the type of male now commonly referred … Continue reading Holden Caulfield as Early Prototype for the Modern-Day Incel/Generally Disaffected Male

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Prose Poetry

Selling the Mattress by Priscilla Atkins

Melodious as Groucho Marx, the middle-aged New York transplant answers Boyfriend’s and my ad (Valley Pennywise, August ‘80), taps at the screen door. When I open, he looks me in the eye. Offers his hand. Bends. Mustache tickles my skin. I’m a twenty-two-year-old fairy princess. Alive. Winged. In the whole back-and-forth over the queen size (or was it full?—God, I was young), he ignores Boyfriend. … Continue reading Selling the Mattress by Priscilla Atkins

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Poetry

Reading William S. Burroughs by Jeffrey Zable

is like trying to decipher the scrawl of someonelying face down in their own vomit, pen in hand,making strange marks on the sidewalk. People passing by look at this someonewith a sense of profound sadness, and out of pityleave such items on his back as rotten apples,broken trophies, dead lizards and plane ticketsto flights that unfortunately went downwithout a sole survivor. And when they arrive … Continue reading Reading William S. Burroughs by Jeffrey Zable

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Poetry

Lady July by Sophie Roy

I  I ask you for signs and you, buried at sea send me mermaids and foreign license plates  I am too keen to look *** I have sea salt in my hairReallyTsunami II Pas de nouvelles à annoncer Pas de messages personnels Mais sur les murs de mon ennui, j’écris ton nom en cursiveà l’encre bleue soigneusement, comme l’écolière comme une folle, une éxilée comme future amoureuse —une amante  Comme la lune au soleil comme … Continue reading Lady July by Sophie Roy

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