Clock,Clock on the wallShow me how much time I’ve wasted Red,Red in my eyesOld mistakes turn hope to hatred Doubt,Doubt in full bloomAct where I once hesitated Glass,Glass at my feetBreak the clock and then remake it Continue reading Clock on the Wall by Olivia Parker Sergent
-after Polite Safety Notice by Mark Riddes Out there, everywhere a woman past her primeis rolling through the streets, low rumbling thunder.Closer than you think women, are gathering clouds.I know you must have heard of it.They open their mouths, round eyes of storms.Beware and adapt. Like hurricanes, moist air rising, opposing forces have whipped them up.Their season has arrived. A force of nature. Unstoppable. You cannot escape … Continue reading Forecast by Tak Erzinger
Mercenaries to massacre patriots?Rumors in 1789 Reality in 2020Patriots, to the Bastille! Yes, that is right. Mercenaries, not public servants.They have abdicated this honorAnd exchanged it for the oppressor’s opprobrium Patriots, to the Bastille!There was no other wayThere is no other wayStop the procrastination, known as promises of reformPatriots, to the Bastille! How many days did Desmoulins predict the massacre to endure?Does it matter? Each day … Continue reading The Days of Saint Bartholomew by Xavier Jones
Fly on the Wall Press, publisher of the collection No Home in This World by Kevin Crowe, presents itself as a “publisher with a conscience.” This description also suits its author, introduced as a “lifelong socialist, [who] has over the years been involved in campaigning on a wide range of issues, including homelessness, anti-war initiatives, trade union rights, freedom of speech, HIV/AIDS and LGBTQ+ rights.” … Continue reading “At Least I Had Fun, I Suppose”: Kevin Crowe’s No Home In This World by Ewa Mazierska
This is the city in which time converges, an unstable zone where back then is now again as it will be soon. Everything crashes together, spume rising, the remains washed up on our desecrated beachhead. The place where everyone knows your date of birth and social security number, but can’t quite grasp your name. “You look like a friend, but much older and sadder.” A … Continue reading Approaching Hysteria, Illinois by Max Talley
In 1993, Madonna would manage to have two films released via MGM. The first, Body of Evidence, was unleashed in January–the known “slump” month in the industry, where nothing new ever seems to be released. Unless, that is, it’s something like Body of Evidence, which the studio already expected to fail, hence releasing it during a period where it would have little else to compete … Continue reading Dangerous Game: The 90s Movie Version of Yates
A still grasshopper’s swivelingHis antennae endlesslyBecause he’s lost. Two iridescent alley fliesCircle the house until they dieAlso confused. Just as the house does to the bugs,A very old and yellow spongeDries in the sink. And I am, too, thus at a lossTo be not so like how I was,Or want to be. Continue reading Infestation by Zeke Greenwald
Our daddy madly singingDances atop the tableWhile the universeSmolders outside the door.His naked prancingStunts our growth–But mommy’s gone away. Daddy keeps twistingThe night away, a note To mom taped to his chest:“Could you ever hopeTo have it as sweetAs when you were withThe kids and me?” Continue reading Our Father by Ron Kolm
While Taylor Swift has taken a lot of credit of late for, like, inventing cottagecore with Folklore, others have also reminded that fellow “tastemaker” Marie Antoinette was an original champion of the concept while also only relishing the structure and trappings thereof for their aesthetic value. Not the actual work-related practices behind the upkeep of such a milieu (and why would Taylor or Marie [in … Continue reading Don’t Talk to Hansel and Gretel About Cottagecore
Shadows on a stationed camionseek refuge from the heat,its white carcass attracting them like flies,the avenue catches fire,and every car that flickers pastintensifies the flames.Still, passersby will keep this purgatory alive, despite intention to be somewhere —anywhere inside. I am inside,my particular hell a placewithout love, the longing for, revived. Continue reading Canicule by John Jack Jackie (Edward) Cooper
