The sound of a bass guitar is moving a row of distant wheat to the east. The sun is shining just like in the beginning. Swaying back and forth like rhythmic dancers.They are captured on a cloud of silent time.No names are necessary; they know each other from previous lives. The drummer is quietly playing my favorite song, and yours too.His past love is sitting behind me staring … Continue reading A Soft Breeze by Frankie Laufer
I have mourned—that I have lost a book-mark of sentimental value—oneI picked up—at a bookstore called—Ten Directions—in Taos—where Dad& I had driven one weekend—thedrive in Grandpa’s old red Chevy pick-up—when Dad said—get this—hisfamily was only dysfunctional—whenthey drank—otherwise all was fine!—this from a man—who had found hismother naked in—the bathtub—&whose father—the aforementioned Grand-pa—had, rampaging—forced Dad, hismother, & sister—to spend Xmas Evein the backyard—in a tent—a var-iation … Continue reading Ten Directions by Frank Freeman
Daily News.Nuts And Chews.ProphetsWith TheirEmptyPews.Streaming Now OnPay-Per-View.This Planet.Can ItMake TheGrade?Can WeMake A Trade?Venus.SweetAnd Hot.Pluto.JustA Dot.What YouSeeIsWhatYouGot.This Planet.Have WeGot AClue?Is The Rent Past Due?Have WeGot TheTime ForA FinalRhyme?If We DroppedA LineWould ItBe ACrime?This PlanetIs Pinned To The Void. Filled With CreaturesClose To The Earth. Continue reading This Planet by Charlie Robert
The last time I saw David Hockneywe were in the postage stamp-sized elevatorto the fourth floor at ABC Carpet & Home. I was probably fifty—he sixty. Surprisingly,he was wearing jeans and a white t-shirt. I felt like a small girl with an eager face,too beet-maroon to address him directly.“What are you shopping for?” I could have asked—or made banal chit-chat. Instead, I stared at the dirty wooden floor … Continue reading David Hockney Is Dead by Dale Champlin
My journey took me toa place called Hopperand the last gas station in Americathat was owned by an actual human being.A windblown flag read “Ernie’s,”though that owner’s actual namewas John, just like mine.Oh well…there’s actual and there’s actual.In the window of his tiny officewas an old rusty signfor a brand of gas and oil called “White Eagle.”I took a photograph to save its future. I … Continue reading Hopper by John Grey
No particular homemeans every placeis my home.And what roof could carrythe sky’s coattails?But, some nights,the stars are particularly starless,the fresh airbreathes darkerthan bad whiskeyand the doorways I sleep inare narrower, more confiningthan any roomthese bones have laid up in.And where’s the romance,when I smell worse than I feeland everyone who’s out forwhat they can getstill looks at those with nothinglike they’ve got something to give.My … Continue reading The Travails of a Homeless Man by John Grey
So picture this. You’re shopping with your wife and child. Nordstrom. Because you’re fucking rich. She’s looking for a dress, or whatever, and you’re in charge of the boy. He’s three and a half, maybe a bit more. This section of the store is dotted with circular racks, great for hiding if you’re three feet tall. Your boy runs down the aisle with his hands … Continue reading Cruising the Mall by Earl Javorsky
I. Can I just be like the mothers of the 80s and the 2020s, and blame Manson for the cocktail of pills I shoot back in the morning and the caffeine I snort during the two p.m. slump. II. I told my mother I’m still a virgin and she sounded just as disappointed as the day we came home the next day after revealing to my dad she knew about his affair. III. I say I am … Continue reading Furthermore, Moreover, Etc. by Naa Asheley Ashitey
this temptation to step off the edge / and fall weightless, away from the world —“For the Sake of Strangers” by Dorianne Laux It makes me feel somehow betterwhen there’s a name for it—arachnophobia, schadenfreude, sonder for example—those feelings that sit at least two standard deviationsfrom the bell curve center of feelings whereangry, sad and happy live. A man once told me about his compulsion … Continue reading Weightless by Jennifer Rood
Like slimy gutter rats, Britain’s ICE agents slid through the back fence targeting a chic Indian restaurant,its owner embodying “British values,”employing competent people disregarding their ethnicity: meritocracy at its best Mandira, lauded by Britain’s culinary finest—Nigella Lawson, Jamie Oliver and Channel 4—was on holiday, delegating managementto those in whom she believedto those in whom she trusted the ICE rats with two pit bulls and Surrey police,who think … Continue reading Mandira’s Kitchen by Floyd Humphrey
