One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Breathe in. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Breathe out. Another round. Another cycle. This feeling again. Don’t make any noise. Don’t bother anyone. It will all pass in the end. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Breathe in. You’re taking control of your heart. Another image. Another memory. Don’t cry. Don’t complain. Your knees on your chest. Your … Continue reading It Will All Pass in the End by Adrean Bellon
I’m Mexican. That much I know. That much I can be sure of. Or can I? Here, in a strange land, my nationality manifests as a shield. It comes as a reflex, to protect and justify my less than perfect tongue: the brokenness of my words and the silly mistakes. It is also an impenetrable wall (Berlin?): I cannot understand them, the French and the … Continue reading I’m Mexican by Andrea V. Garcia Robles Gil
I had been sitting for an hourin the coffee shop areaof the now gone Borders bookstoretrying to piece together the shardsof a life shattered by the impendingend of a long marriage that wasgoing to last for a lifetime.And I was hoping, perhaps,to meet someone, ready or notto try and fill the smallest cornerof what was now a gaping void.She was dressed in something fromthe late … Continue reading Incarnation by Louis Faber
I know now that watching you eatwas what I once loved about my mother: the necessityof it, the intensity of it, the unacknowledged pleasure—everything that made reality human. So much in life, my tenderexperience, places things in doubt, and here was proof,above all sciences, that to be, to exist, was hunger, and could be satisfied.Beauty was to perceive, to see that whatever else truth might … Continue reading Hunger by John Jack Jackie (Edward) Cooper
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
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
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 Spotify here. Buy I Love Paris at Barnes … 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
