Were those really bats we sawover the Hinterhof?Or were they birds swirlingto show the evening off? And was it really hemlockWhich grew around the lake?Or was it an umbellifer,Which it wouldn’t kill to take? Was it really all that grey?Were the streets at night so dark?If Berlin was so morose,Luke, I need not pine at all. Yet German doctors wrote you rosesTo combat your stress.And … Continue reading Chemical Imbalance by Zeke Greenwald
May the clown forgivemy shriek and mylittle boy’s tearswhen he spranglike a rimshot outof his tinkling tinbox and then vanishedinto the attic forever. Continue reading Jack-in-the-Box by Wim Coleman
Take this message: Eleni delivered Woman pleasedSometimes the deathwind is in towthe weight slides forwardinto a near-miss miasmaof basic bone structure—to witthe push and shove of pulmonary suspiration—yet again there’s hope,the wait never as longas it might bealways a doctorin the house with fantasticmustaches (Romanesque),striated evidence of former tattoos (a wilderpast life?) whichis all to speak of the way this crowded momentcan fast-idle the mind, wander driven even in August’s stupid heat, the phosphorous-wanting … Continue reading Like None Other by Alexander Lowell
To the end of my days I won’t Drink red wine in a Greek restaurantEspecially one where there is bouzouki music,A waiter has set fire to a plate of cheeseAnd a full moon is languishing on the veranda You’ve ruined it for me Until my final wheezing breath I shan’tBe within hearing distance of Any tragic song—by Kalogiannis,Parios, Dalaras, Mitropanos—In which it is midnight, too much retsina has … Continue reading The Effect of Karma in Cyprus by Alexander Lowell
looks back in disgustat those who walk pastall ignorance and innocencetheir world revolvingwithout thoughtaround a blissnever to exist It knows despaira hardness unyieldingwind caressing its broadshoulders for millenniawater insinuating itselfwhere not welcome looks beneath itselfnested and embraced by earthits shape a perfect fitthe earth cooledthe earth heatedby its shape and presenceknows the comfort theremore to comeand leaves well enough alone Continue reading The Unturned Stone by Richard Weaver
I ate a Raymond Carverat the Press Club Café It tasted good: smoked salmon, spinachtomato, shallots, fresh dill. If I ate you,Raymond Carver,would I write like you?Minimal, genuine, chiselingflesh-and-blood characters:living, struggling, working, always longing for something orsomeone. I’d like to hold a blind man’shand, draw a cathedral,throw all my furniture on thelawn, or peer through a lockeddoor, like a hungry, horny neighbor. I long for someone that I can … Continue reading I Ate a Raymond Carver by Sherri Levine
It is said that you cannot judge someone “so young” with the same yardstick of measurement that you would someone more mature, more established in their field. With 22-year-old Amanda Gorman’s poetry reading at Joe Biden’s inauguration, however, that becomes something of a tall order. Her delivery of the roughly six-minute long “The Hill We Climb” felt, by and large, rough-hewn, as though we were … Continue reading The Basement Poetry Reading Comes To the Capitol (And No, That’s Not A Compliment)
All words or ideas that occur on the clock or off the clock on the premises are ours. Holiday greetings, well-wishes, expression of dreams or daydreams, finger strokes and eye movements—ours. We will pay you for whatever it is you do, but be advised that whatever you think you do is not what you do. Continue reading Work Product by Eric Rawson
As I struggle to put on my glassesI’m an ageless wonder who moves like molassesMy hair is disheveled so I comb every fiber back in orderTo create an image of togethernessMy clothes are simple and fashion isn’t my focusMy favorite tv shows are re-runsMy shoes are slippers because it hurts too much to bend over to tie my sneakersI slowly move to the reclinerI sit … Continue reading Rewind by Soulrac
When not studyingfor exams from expensive books,he guards the oak wood flamethat tempers the brick hearthwalls, its smooth stone floor—soot scraped away. He thinks of Robert Frost, his simple poemswhile tossing the pliable dough,shapes it to fit a circular pallet,brushes with a branch of rosemarydipped in garlic-infused olive oiluntil it glistens in kitchen light. He spreads a dollop of red sauceall over, before slices of … Continue reading Pizza Man by John C. Mannone
