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August, 2024

The Multifaceted Tribute of John Lennon’s “Woman” from Double Fantasy

John Lennon’s “Woman” is a multifaceted tribute, a deeply personal reflection on the impact that all the women in Lennon’s life had on him, from his mother and aunt to his wives and lovers. Through its lyrics, musical composition, and broader thematic content, the song captures Lennon’s journey of self-discovery,...
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August, 2024

Reading Traffic

Her boyfriend, driving the jeep, escaped. V. F Babkov, in his book on road construction and traffic safety does not fail to mention that country roads, in particular–if my memory serves me correctly– when lined with especially tall, thick trees could distract motorists’ horizon, so to speak, lulling them to...
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August, 2024

Sunday Mornings

S is confusing my count of how many wrinkles I have found under my eyes when I smile. He sits at the edge of the bathtub, unbothered about lines, creases, or drooping at the corners of the mouth. I continue with the lined-up bottles of toners and essences and serums...
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August, 2024

Pistachios: A Sestina

In the rain, eat pistachios The girl with the red dress, hands me a lily Secrets of the house—of the blouse—of the bruise I begin eating them and them and them: flax seeds We cannot live in mud of melancholy Like a sticky hot bun, this is all...
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August, 2024

A Living Otherness

Her deliberate pulling back of her spinning out-of-control thoughts, by latitudes and then by degrees, that bump into her present-day life. Of her stacking and re-stacking of newspapers by date. Of her pushing their edges into alignment. Perhaps, in a bid to guarantee to her life a shape of order...
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August, 2024

Before the Last Sigh

The things we do to keep alive: Whisky, weed, write & lie. We settle, we deny, we Play-Boy. We work & sleep & hunt to avoid the final gasp, life’s last sigh.
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July, 2024

Travelers Song

I mind the peak cabin with vistas in all directions need fire humming here and nowhere in particular while you dip a toe into icy time flow finicking a door
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July, 2024

Watermelon and Buttercups

The Author traverses the space between support and understanding of the geopolitical situation of Israel and Palestine.
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July, 2024

My First Love was Long

At home, he refused to drink his milk. I tried different kinds: organic, fat-free, almond. I studied the pamphlet, which advised against force-feeding, so I made him a milk bath and soaked him for several days.
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July, 2024

ADVANCE LESSONS

Bypassing clenched fists, their conscientious poems get published in conscientious journals.
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July, 2024

Between Two Oblivions

When I see the roots of a tree bleed through the ground, now I say they are the veins of my grandmother's hands, spilling upward.  I recall the tender bruises up and down her arms
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July, 2024

Between the Woodchips and Me

My sister was supposed to come swing with me. She could push me so high that I would forget there was a world below awaiting my return. She coaxed me to jump every time.
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July, 2024

Old Lady’s Moon

It’s dry,a fragrance tucked away, no longer lavender.
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July, 2024

Self and Selflessness

The writer juxtaposes the nuggets of wisdom of writers and philosophers and poets to arrives at an aspect of understanding.
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July, 2024

Welcome to Equity Crater

When the hums reach the edge of the crater, they return to the girl, and she replies by raising her voice an octave.
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July, 2024

killing something wild

I knew he’d never kill anything and it wasn’t that  I thought you wanted that deer to get killed but I had suspicion you  did not care either way and that indifference made me more sick but
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July, 2024

Firefight

First punch landed at Stonewall, Bleached reef, powder nose, drip-drip-alive, Nightmare waking and post-sleepfuck-stares, You. Bought You,
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July, 2024

echoes of Ferlinghetti

skateboards     dope and pogo sticks banana bikes    and popsicle sticks ten cent candy     up from five
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July, 2024

footprints

the air thickened with silence. a small robin robs the brush of whatever red berries exude from the death of this place.
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July, 2024

Remembering We Are Meant To be Joy

A soul is already carpeted in the divine and who is to say sorrow isn’t God? Who is to say love isn’t prayer? Who is to say time is always on our side?
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July, 2024

POET CAESAR

Only when you can delete your Submittable account, and box your poetry books into a carton shipped to a country without birds or borders;
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