My love affair with Old Glory started in sixth grade as a school crossing patrol boy.Leading first and second graders down the street single file. They have their marching orders.My flag and red helmet were as close as it gets to the front lines.Nothing could disturb this rush of control—except maybe a junior high miscreant looking for trouble.The perks were good. Getting out of class fifteen minutes early … Continue reading Flags by Frankie Laufer
in despair—about my writing—why couldn’t I ever get a lucky break?—like when Sherwood Anderson toldHemingway—to go to Paris—and wrotea letter for him to Gertrude Stein—orwhen Jim Harrison met Denise Levertovat a party—and she said—send me some of your poetry—voilà his firstpublished book—believe me—Icould go on—and on—I’ve readall the biographies of famous writers—each had a lucky break—or two—or more—but me?—what aboutme, goddammit!—then I looked atthe calendar—above my … Continue reading The Collar by Frank Freeman
Heckler: You hear this cat, man? Muhfugga sound like his fingers are broken… Or he’s experiencing a spasm in his hands—worst pianist eye ever heard—not even a pianist! He’s not a pianist, man. This muhfugga just takin’ out his emotions on— Another Heckler:Don’t sound like a pianist to meOr maybe it’s just not a piano, eye meanDig the incredibly ordinary contradictionsOut just to be OutNot cuz … Continue reading Uncomfortable Listening by Malik Crumpler
The Letter.Just When You ThoughtIt’sGettingBetter.All He’llMiss IsHow YouFilled OutYour Sweater.Sacred PlacesSad And DryThat He’dMade Wetter.The Letter.The Letter.Clutched In Fist.CuttingSkin.You WereAlmostNext Of Kin.You WereAlmostSafe At Last.Upper Crust.Lower Caste.Made The Scene.Now That’s Gone.Once A Queen.Now A Pawn. Darkness At Dawn.The Last TimeI Saw You.The Light From The KitchenAnd How You Stood.Your CarefullyChosen WordsBruising The Silence. Continue reading The Last Time I Saw You by Charlie Robert
What had she wanted, unknowable—within those lips, be heard, could have occurredshe did even know? Such power, possessed,dispossesses had she wit, the words, words, words,pure spontaneity of ignorancespoken at last out loud, to say if not whothen that vitality unspecified,entire life pursued, continually deceived,egregiously misled, disappointed—although promised, never on Earth fulfilled. This agony curtailed, herself set freefrom assumption, false alternative buried:like Ophelia, submerged beneath the … Continue reading Ophelia’s Ventriloquy by John Jack Jackie (Edward) Cooper
There’s nothing worse than demeaning a woman with regard to her “comprehension” of something. As if women don’t get enough grief/aren’t already questioned constantly whenever they say anything that a man (or fellow woman) can pounce on as being “wrong.” Just look at the clip of Kurt Loder correcting Jewel about the meaning of “casualty” in her A Night Without Armor poetry book. Or having … Continue reading Has Taylor Swift Actually Read Hamlet? And, If So, Did She Understand It?, Or: The Fate of Ophelia Wasn’t to Be Commodified by a Pop Star (At Least Not Like This)
Blue moods unparalleled by weather, moodswings seem suspended by clandestine chains.Blue minds imagine playgrounds at the endof June in silver light filtering through the trees,when light of day is emptied like a theaterafter the show, the darkness waiting silently. The vessels of our blood appearing blue,cool wavelengths penetrating skin with bluedeception. Cloudless skies in afternoonare entertaining kites and contrails, smokeand helium balloons, migrating birds—below, the … Continue reading Blue by Mark Katrinak
Kent State shootings, May 4, 1970 May magnifies magnolias and memories, red ones as bright as drops of chosen blood. Holocaustic flashes return to springtime air;tortured souls can’t cross over to the dead. Protests inflame the presidential lung.Under white cotton sheets trigger men lie.Student, beware the angles of geometry. “The shortest distance between two points is over four corpses.” Thirteen seconds in Kent elicits screams.The demonstrations die … Continue reading Blanket Hill by Mark Katrinak
When we met he wasn’t into the street shit no more. I liked that. Cool. Extra cool. No late night early mornings running around dirty. Said he did that before, been to prison and all that but he was done, never again. On some fuck prison shit. Got a regular job, a 9-5, and wasn’t playing with it. He told me that around the block … Continue reading Glamorous Whitegirl by Rachel Wagner
The Worker riffles through the pages of his black binder, going through the motions of preparing for his next meeting. After a moment, bored, he claps the binder shut. No need to bother with this sort of thing anymore. Success like his has its rewards. He stands quietly in the center of his immense office—his sanctuary—each detail of which he has personally chosen. Bright and … Continue reading Walls by Caroline Tilley
