No eye contact is to be had by Susie Gharib

I walk the streets since I’m still part of the herd,which our ancestors had called humankind, but no eye contact is to be had,only an ocean of heaving, bowed heads, absorbed in the contents of their possessive hands. Little, local gossips have swelled into global slander of the first class.Domestic, personal festivities are available for pernicious sneers and heated debates.Each ego is inflated with the aid of … Continue reading No eye contact is to be had by Susie Gharib

Fill ‘Er Up by Betsy Martin

there ought to belove stations where people could go who weren’t nurtured enough in their early years you’d approach and be metby outstretched arms  and into you would come an outpouring of what you’d been yearning for:self-esteem, social grace, courage,calm a more civilized society would provide this instead of filling stations for cars parents toohaving had parents themselveswould be encouragedto use the love stations __________________________________________________________________Betsy Martin is the author of … Continue reading Fill ‘Er Up by Betsy Martin

“… if you’re lost enough to find yourself …” by Carolyn Martin

… if you’re lost enough to find yourself …–Robert Frost, “Directive” Before we knew pollution was a word, we played beneath yellow skies. Down the roadbelching stacks didn’t seem troubling.Nor did the miracles of DDT, plastic bottles and bags, or gas-guzzlerstestifying to our white picket dreams.We snubbed the signs in hurricanes, fires and droughts. Discounted leaded paint and pipes.Muted the whimpering of bees. Ignorancehad a way of keeping … Continue reading “… if you’re lost enough to find yourself …” by Carolyn Martin

Hippocampus by Alex LeGrys

The angel of acedia is drunkfrom a chalice that neverruns dry–she livesin the grandest chamberof the mind. she is lying naked ona black leather couch, reading a book of Beckett’sor Woolf’s and the onlything she pays heedto is her jade planteach morning she has thick blackhair that she neverbothers brushing andher eyes are so dark theycould never shimmerat children or kittens asyours do she is beautiful … Continue reading Hippocampus by Alex LeGrys

Nectar of the Gods by Claire Andréani

Take the words out of yourmouth like a nectarfrom the Gods Take the silence of theNight as a sign theworld you shouldAdore Take the rising babies’cries as a hope of re-awakening And the sweet breeze ofthe Mountain–as a Secretto be keeping– Take the useless laughterAs a sign of departure– Take the fools and DrunkardsAs the models of Failure Take the pain in the HeartAs a … Continue reading Nectar of the Gods by Claire Andréani

Space Phobia by Dale Champlin

After I move out of here—if I make it—I want art, laughter and music. What is the term for the terrorof being alone in a huge open spacesomething like an asteroidtraveling at the speed of lightthrough vast emptiness?  I might tumble—a fear so pervasivethat at times I find myselfcrawling across the pine floor.Even then I might encounter a scorpion,a dozing rattler, or a black widow.While upright … Continue reading Space Phobia by Dale Champlin

Fortune Cookie Writer with Tourette’s by Richard Weaver

You are a tall dark stranger. And one strange son-of-a-bitch. Unfortunately, you’re also a fucking ugly bastard, and will never meet ANYONE who will change that fact; not even a top-shelf plastic surgeon. All of your children will be born in a landfill, each one whelped by the open sewer that is your common-law wife. All will die of humiliation and lead-poisoning. Just so you … Continue reading Fortune Cookie Writer with Tourette’s by Richard Weaver

Back in the USSR by Cynthia Andrews

We would have dancedto the Beatles, you andI, with a vodka in onehand and our poetryin the other. I would have taught you some  New steps you undoubtedlynever heard of before: gosoftly, don’t shout and singwhen you can’t find the wordsto speak your sadness.   How I would have paid any-thing to have seen you growold, the blonde thinning, thegorgeous smile smothered inmy kisses and your wrinkles  From … Continue reading Back in the USSR by Cynthia Andrews

Bubonic Colonic by Zeke Greenwald

Blood gets transfused into my veinsFrom a bag which from the ceiling hangs;Some pipettes from the bottom runLike legs with someone else’s blood. So the maroon cephalopodFloats from the pole it’s fastened on;Staved by a hook, it makes a squid,Who slowly bleeds out drip by drip;I lay below the drying fishOf plastic bag with blood in it. What is blood, but such basic stuff,But blood’s … Continue reading Bubonic Colonic by Zeke Greenwald