porcelain moon glued to my window (pearl-moon stunningly beautiful) you’re an etheric dog a drowning bride resurrecting from an alcoholic coma in a lamplit tulip dress & boreal lipstick (ectoplasmic moon) or lady godiva high on opium ridin’ a mad star from a faraway dream all the way into my room o my angel moon – rape my eyes then lull me to sleep (jardin du … Continue reading Incest Moon by Henrik Aeshna
If you can count your friends on more than one hand, you’re mistaken. —Michael G. Kew, 1986-2004 Someone left a walrus, knew you would like a walrus by himself chuffing in the watery flowers, the bob of petunias on granite. A plastic ring bereft of its price-tag adorns a tendril of cast-iron sun staked into the ground, tagged like cattle. It doesn’t move … Continue reading Trinkets by Cody Kucker
By now, Zadie Smith has long ago come into her own as an author. Her largely autobiographical voice, which has always served her well (particularly with her debut, White Teeth–and, incidentally, Smith pulls a rather Bret Easton Ellis move in that her narrator references going to school with Irie Jones, who also has a Jamaican mother), reaches a more elevated, literary stride with her fifth … Continue reading Zadie Smith’s Swing Time Is An Undercutting Attack on Stagnation & Surrendering Your Voice to Others
The cave man foreboding his arrows & bones like a comet, sketches time’s abode. Under the loins of my work I’m measuring. I’m accelerating. I grind & my lenses become other gravity, or lugubrious monarchies. Where Einstein’s wrath pokes the knot time’s noose digitizes & widens not dimensionally, but with the elasticity of biology. Time’s wrath ticks too kindly. Continue reading Lens & garter by Phillipe Vicente
A dusk stole from an ex-girlfriend, abstracting the breadth and fodder of your mild and precarious affair after the tide of evidence gave a taser to the weekend’s romp. Glories much like eyeliner, the fondness for cash, are the semantics of flesh, how lust sabotages the meditation of the mind, gets folded hands to do the felt thing. You smothered each other just a few … Continue reading Legacy by Phillipe Vicente
The bruising was not unlike the fist emerging through the clenched faces, the red of freshly skinned knees, their hot bones white as blank pages. A punch and I dreamed of water and rose patches. Friends, to whom I’m merely a target and a laugh, kicked me back to life. Their taunts broke me where I dreamed. It was neither school nor prison. I leaned … Continue reading “Lesson” by Phillipe Vicente
You never returned that book I lent you I can’t even remember the title Was it Great Expectations, matching mine? Was it A Good Man is hard to find? And let me observe A lost book is hard to find. Was it The Lives of Christopher Chant, or The Wind Singer? I don’t know, it seems I’ve lost so many books to the likes of … Continue reading Lending Books by Camille Adnot
Every day is a death I escape from into a night I know nothing about I am merely the means to my own end Continue reading Sucker Punch by Donna Dallas
She walks by me Looks me up and down she sees I got nobody with me no money no jewelry I got the Puma sneakers I got the good face untouched no scars I got the blue eyes they always try to scratch or punch the eyes there’s three or four we gonna fight no matter what nothin I can say or do gonna change … Continue reading FreeStyle by Donna Dallas
Some days I forget that I am nothing so busy keeping up with the Joneses that other person of blind wind zipping through the streets fast and crazy have to get to work attend the meetings the PTA grocery store gas all the places I need to go then something happens the dog pisses on the couch my kid is failing in school I find … Continue reading Ordinary Days by Donna Dallas
