Gossip by Susie Gharib

The tenant of Wildfell Hall, in an aesthetic style,amputated small talk with a palette knife. Catherine Cookson, the child with no “Da”became the Dame of the British Empire.I look ahead and people melt before my eyes,their solidity dissolving into a mere mirage,a fragmented lie.I have learned to reduce to invisibilitywhoever attempts to pollute my pathwith tongues that waglike resurrected hags’. They bite into names with rabid … Continue reading Gossip by Susie Gharib

Positively Volcanic by Dale Champlin

We played a game—the floor was lava—we hopped from couch to chair,crab walked across the window seat,then swung from the chandelieronto the library table. If you knockedanything over—a book, a goblet,a bowl of flowers—you would burstinto flame. When that happened the little hairs of me shot straight up.I squealed.  “Pop Goes the Weasel” tinkledin my ears. Outside small wrenspeeped in the bushes. Mouthwateringsmells drifted from the … Continue reading Positively Volcanic by Dale Champlin

The One by O’ar Pali

Like that one,Blissful note, Amid a hypnotic –Symphony,So, you’ve beenTo me. Like that first Bee sting That you remember,For a lifetime,To come…So, your eyes –To me, Have been, Just the One.  Like an evil,Yet, melodious – TuneThat one can’t Stop humming Even to his doom,Or a wormThat digs on Deep,So are the words, To me –You speak.  But,Like a mid savanna,Wild Stampede, Are those dainty Feet, and those Daunting deeds.  And Like the clouds that Spell rain Only to reveal the sun…Or … Continue reading The One by O’ar Pali

Toward a Hermeneutics of Language in Which Poetry is Mistaken for Violets by Ann Pedone

This is the trouble with language.It moves with borrowed light. Lingersbetween loverssky and birda woman’s body and your mouth. It is a thing that grows as the light moves.Follows the revolutionsof the sun.Is consumed by the appetites of the soil. I list all of the men I have loved. Those who have left me and all the rest. And as I collapse into a sleep that is notI reachfor your shoulderas you moveto your side … Continue reading Toward a Hermeneutics of Language in Which Poetry is Mistaken for Violets by Ann Pedone

Harry Potter Was Always Pedestrian & J.K. Rowling’s Views Match That

I never fucked with Harry Potter. At least not in the same incredibly overzealous way other people did for most of the 00s. I was a casual peruser after the first book (which didn’t hook me)–just to see what, exactly, all the fuss was about this cultural phenomenon that had managed to get so many otherwise illiterate Americans to read. Clearly, that illiteracy still applied … Continue reading Harry Potter Was Always Pedestrian & J.K. Rowling’s Views Match That

Last Night of Verse by Michael Berton

 The microphone hums. Its shadow flutters on the page, a circumlunar echo resonates emanating from the readers printed word, calibrated rolling redolent off the tongue, quenches the mouth. Moist to the ears, the chug of the last train that night for the West Coast pulled in all debris of sound. Along with the waitress’ last call for service among a scattered dozen remaining on the bougainvillea-filled patio. … Continue reading Last Night of Verse by Michael Berton