This labyrinth is a serpent untangling its belly, and I’m wandering the mess of stomach, a lost and undigested bone that won’t pass to the new life. The thread unravels toward the heart, and I shed my skin in sacrifice, cut the memory of stars, of earth, of humble beginnings, raising glasses, waking in my own bed, hands still soft. I’ve lost my way before, … Continue reading Savage by Jessica Fischoff
Start light, start bright. The first star I see tonight. I wish I may, I wish I might, have the wish I wish tonight… But the city lights were too bright. I reached up and grabbed a street light. It’s hard to handle the glare when you’re a creature of the night. A creature of habit accustomed to not having it, but I ain’t going … Continue reading Start Light by Kufikiri Imara
Dear Writer, Thank you for entrusting Hooligan Review with your work. Few trust us with anything. We enjoyed this piece thoroughly, but after careful consideration we could not fit it into our current issue. We tried, with smaller fonts, slender margins and even a shoehorn. Damn thing would not squeeze in. Our editors read your story several times, as we often do with work we … Continue reading Thank You; No Thank You by Max Talley
Tourists amble off buses, clad in the nervous chatter of intrusion, searching for superheroes. They suffocate the sidewalks of Hollywood, trampling over handprints embedded in slabs of concrete that will outlast glitter and celluloid. Boys wrap drum beats into the skin of paint buckets, rhythms that hunt for a quickening pulse, beckoning a bat winged man on roller blades. He glides through the spotlight, leather … Continue reading Stars Encased in Obsidian by Susan Richardson
Chronic Fatigue Syndrome has struck the star of a local ballet troupe and a retiree who’s been waiting ten years to take up the sitar and the daughter of a famous sci-fi writer and a pharmacist at the nearby Walgreen’s which sits at the cobbled corner of Happy and Healthy There are too many others to mention who have been likewise affected who (barely) live … Continue reading Chronic Fatigue by Mitchell Grabois
The sun always shines on TV, sang Morten in the nineteen-eighties when I was poring over books in a tiny room that overlooked Glasgow’s Necropolis cemetery, constantly fending off the blows of smog-and-fog-related melancholies. When my eyes sought a little respite from perusing Lawrence’s Aristocracy of the Sun, on monumental headstones they would alight, nestling to tributes on epitaphs, speculating on how Young, Blair and … Continue reading Suns by Susie Gharib
I sit in the corner. There is light somewhere, a lamp. I sit in my chair. The whiskey bottle empty. The black dog in the doorway. And god is man in ruins. On my desk, a notebook half filled with bad poems. I sit in my chair, I sit in the corner. Her picture on my desk smiles. Her letter sings on the wall. I … Continue reading In Exile, In Darkness by Lou Graves
i deal in absolutes, only absolutes as i consider myself some disciple of man, of some sun-shiny woman in a panama hat, of some dusty illini museum where i bend my neck and stare at the models of first humans and their hanging chests — i deal in certainties, things contained in basement bargain book bins, rules to be broken, the quiet strength of strong … Continue reading absolutist by Cameron Gorman
When it comes to the genre often relegated to “Holocaust writers,” Nelly Sachs frequently seems to be overlooked. Born in Schöneberg at the end of the nineteenth century, Sachs’ poetry very clearly comes from a place of seeing the contrast between prosperity and decay, tranquility and terror. Her privilege of being a part of a wealthy family allowed her the later associated with Emily Dickinson … Continue reading “When the great terror came/I fell dumb”: Nelly Sachs & the Written Word as the Sole Means for Vaguely Getting Across One’s Internal Turmoil
I am losing my hair Oh yes I can feel the breeze My fingers slide On exposed scalp Hair’s still there But sparse like kelp It used to define me My follicular identity Curly! Tangles! Jewfro! No need to eat my crusts For cascading blond ringlets But thick goes fast The plughole clogs What am I anymore? A slapping stone A crown of bone Wispy … Continue reading MPB by Martin Parsons
