The subway door closes, and it starts. Since it is not too busy, I take a seat and extend my gaze to the pole—it is shiny and dirty—it distends my face in a silvery concave bowl. All I get is the theme, as if breathing into a paper bag. It is always just the theme, like I’m not musically literate enough to remember any more. … Continue reading The Elgar by Sil Spencer
Claws weep as they crack the fleshtrembling ivorypalms pushing the dagger deepIt is so much harder to kick a fallen soldier,Your hollow aching carcasspours gangrene through my feetknocked back by iron anklesto waste hopeless at my kneesIt is so much harder to cut an infant leech,Withered, the child stands sobbinggrasping with blackened armsthey … Continue reading Weeping Teeth by Isabel Marie
While France prides itself on being a nation of liberté, the unspoken caveat is that one usually needs to be a man to enjoy such liberté. The feelings of “retro-ness” that women in the country have long felt, whether about gender or racial discrimination (see: Virginie Despentes’ recent comment on the discrepancy between those affected by COVID-19), has reached such a fever pitch that they’ve … Continue reading Moi les hommes, je les déteste: A Confluence of Misogyny-Based Censorship in France
Johnathan Lingard knew what he had to do, but now that the moment was upon him, he questioned if he could go through with it. He watched his son back out of the driveway and turn at the corner, soon out of the neighborhood and off to college. He was a good kid with a bright future. It’s what Johnathan didn’t know about his own … Continue reading The Commitment by L. A. Ricketts III
They hand you a handout…a look a number…a label a social identity that passes for you They call you they and them— Black people poor people gay people other people They add on ‘’people’’ to distinguish you from White Western male majority They can’ t help being like that They were born that way Do unto others before they do unto you Go ahead make duplicates only I’ll keep the original I anonymously yours am at a loss Coiled in my shell—a cheap hotel or is it … Continue reading What’s Left? by Antonia Alexandra Klimenko
Clock,Clock on the wallShow me how much time I’ve wasted Red,Red in my eyesOld mistakes turn hope to hatred Doubt,Doubt in full bloomAct where I once hesitated Glass,Glass at my feetBreak the clock and then remake it Continue reading Clock on the Wall by Olivia Parker Sergent
-after Polite Safety Notice by Mark Riddes Out there, everywhere a woman past her primeis rolling through the streets, low rumbling thunder.Closer than you think women, are gathering clouds.I know you must have heard of it.They open their mouths, round eyes of storms.Beware and adapt. Like hurricanes, moist air rising, opposing forces have whipped them up.Their season has arrived. A force of nature. Unstoppable. You cannot escape … Continue reading Forecast by Tak Erzinger
Mercenaries to massacre patriots?Rumors in 1789 Reality in 2020Patriots, to the Bastille! Yes, that is right. Mercenaries, not public servants.They have abdicated this honorAnd exchanged it for the oppressor’s opprobrium Patriots, to the Bastille!There was no other wayThere is no other wayStop the procrastination, known as promises of reformPatriots, to the Bastille! How many days did Desmoulins predict the massacre to endure?Does it matter? Each day … Continue reading The Days of Saint Bartholomew by Xavier Jones
Fly on the Wall Press, publisher of the collection No Home in This World by Kevin Crowe, presents itself as a “publisher with a conscience.” This description also suits its author, introduced as a “lifelong socialist, [who] has over the years been involved in campaigning on a wide range of issues, including homelessness, anti-war initiatives, trade union rights, freedom of speech, HIV/AIDS and LGBTQ+ rights.” … Continue reading “At Least I Had Fun, I Suppose”: Kevin Crowe’s No Home In This World by Ewa Mazierska
This is the city in which time converges, an unstable zone where back then is now again as it will be soon. Everything crashes together, spume rising, the remains washed up on our desecrated beachhead. The place where everyone knows your date of birth and social security number, but can’t quite grasp your name. “You look like a friend, but much older and sadder.” A … Continue reading Approaching Hysteria, Illinois by Max Talley
