The bizarre, rather non sequitur spotlight on bedbugs in Paris seems to come at a very “convenient” time for a number of reasons. For one thing, everybody wants to see Paris “flop” in a manner that coincides with the Olympics, when all eyes will be on it more than ever, and, for another, people only care about icky and unpleasant “goings-on” when it affects either … Continue reading They’re Trying to Make “Glamorama With Bedbugs” Happen
Atlas, Bound, Victor Marrero’s striking first collection of poems, takes its inspiration from Michelangelo’s unfinished sculptures known as the “Four Prisoners,” or “Four Slaves,” housed at the Galleria dell’Accademia in Florence. Begun by the artist as embellishments for a pope’s tomb, the statues appear to be both carrying—and struggling to emerge from—the partially chiseled marble that contains and obscures them. The book’s opening poem, “Variations … Continue reading Victor Marrero’s Atlas, Bound Offers Hymns for The Oppressed, Hope for The Downtrodden by Jennifer O’Grady
Dr. King once said, “A riot is the language of the unheard.” And maybe some of you are familiar with the saying, “A hard head makes for a soft behind.” When there is any violent outburst against the institutions of power, it is when the deaf and blind state has left a trail of injustice that has stretched the patience of the nation, if not … Continue reading Starting From the Bottom by Xavier Jones
Just as there are hierarchies in the echelons of politics, families, business, religion etc., there is also that which exists on social media. However, this last one is without doubt the most unstable as freedom of speech finds itself in the most awkward of positions. On one hand, people claim to believe in it because it allows them to say things that would make the … Continue reading Social Media Hierarchy by Xavier Jones
It took me forever to learn how to love—to love wide open with the throat singing ariaswith the arms waving like bannerswith the heart bleeding fleshwith the entrails leakingwith that profound wound of womanhoodthat waits for you like a bruised ripening hungerthat trembles for you like an unhinged moonthat weeps for you as you enter me without a sound How to love openly is an … Continue reading The Travel Channel by Antonia Alexandra Klimenko
Try their search engine again. And again. Nothing? Okay, take a deep breath and calm down (has that ever worked for anyone?). You may have noticed this hits different than your multiple rejections from those high-paying literary magazines. Yes, it’s both crushing and damn insulting to realize your writing, your books—some that can be downloaded for free—have not been used to school our future robot … Continue reading You Just Found Out Your Book Was NOT Used to Train AI. What Now? by Max Talley
When our affair endedthe bed, the linens, the pillows witheredtaking our shrill moans with them.Even the dust on the carpet was still, so quietand threadbare—gray where vibrant plush used to be.I hated to see the wreckageand I hated to see the termination of our lust.I hated to see us go. At the beginningthe weather was good, I remember.We watched spring birds sing their hearts outcarnal … Continue reading The End by Dale Champlin
My wife got home from work and our youngest son ran over to her and yanked her sleeve. “Hey, Mommy, I saw Daddy on TV this afternoon,” he shouted. She had no idea what he was talking about, but she patted him on the head and told him to calm down. I had left the house early and headed over to … Continue reading Mystery Solved by Ron Kolm
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A city of romance, a city of trash, a city of tourists, a city perpetually burning. For those who can see and hear the poetry in Paris, no matter what state it’s in, Rufo Quintavalle’s incisive collection, which addresses subjects and towns well beyond la France, is the perfect élixir for enfants terribles and modèles de vertu alike. Enjoy un petit goût of the book via Quintavalle’s Bandcamp here. Buy I Love Paris at … Continue reading The Opiate Books Presents: I Love Paris by Rufo Quintavalle
Against an old Chevrolet on Maudlin Street, I smoke a cigarette—hard—chuckling at the hisses and howls of alley cats beneath the butcher shop’s broken neon sign. They flick their tails and prowl about, pestering fellas headed home to cold wives and cold dinners, straight from the misery of their long evening shifts. Persistent, with purrs and claws—smooth as cream—they graze oily pant legs (and thighs) … Continue reading Midnight Specials by David Estringel
