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November 6, 2015 |
in Poetry, Uncategorized |
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Our butterfly is neither madam nor monsieur, but flight is the theme which means anywhere is the domain, anywhere butterfly won’t be maimed or captured by the criminal element among...
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October 25, 2015 |
in Poetry |
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Window’s cracked and we’re here again, delicate as the hurling of spoons, nerves raw down to the nook. Yesterday I laid flat against the sheets as if to say my road is your road....
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September 29, 2015 |
in Fiction |
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The lighting in the department store reminds her of hospitals. She walks through the entrance ignoring the display, a Plexiglas table on top of which are vases in shades of orange, yellow...
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September 15, 2015 |
in Poetry |
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Her contraposto posture is pure contraband, a reclamation project of lashes that remember the overseer’s lash. Each holstered fist awaits ascension as she commands an arc of...
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September 15, 2015 |
in Fiction |
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Patty lay on her side, an ancient Lhasa Apso flopped like a throw pillow beside her shoulder. The only sound aside from their breathing was the manic sketching and scratching of eleven...
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August 27, 2015 |
in Poetry |
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The Summer of ‘77 I learned the Spanish phrase: pelo malo when my aunt announced that I’d never be loved by a white man con ese pelo malo. I loved my hair, the way it frizzed around...
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August 25, 2015 |
in Poetry, Uncategorized |
admininfin8 |
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(SMARTPHONE VIDEO IMPROVISATIONS—CHICAGO—4/26/15) AT THE ONSET OF SUNSET CITY UNSETTLED CHAIN HOTEL...
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August 19, 2015 |
in Poetry |
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for Michael Burkard Still winter. Snowing, still. Can it even be called action, this patience in the form of gravity overdressed in grey? & how should we respond to this world, with...
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August 4, 2015 |
in Poetry |
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We are ink frozen, dancing in the skinned house weaving through the den of ceramic frogs, the salt and pepper shakers dressed in the mask of hens. Five children cousins with the...
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August 2, 2015 |
in Poetry |
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GYPSIES Crowded among the sailors on Columbus’ third voyage were farmers and crossbowmen, a miner and a priest, and several convicted murderers, including two gypsy women. That...
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August 1, 2015 |
in Poetry |
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…were all wrong. I have always had a disastrous sense of style, and even when I followed Seventeen magazine like a religion, I didn’t know what would work on my slender, awkward...
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July 9, 2015 |
in Art & Photography |
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Michelle Robinson is a self-taught artist living and working in Los Angeles, California. Her work explores bold contrasts, color palettes, patterns and the female form. Her figures float...
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July 4, 2015 |
in Poetry |
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Yeah bring our electric shaver back, I bought it we shaved each others back it was important to me and why did you take that case of car batteries I had, your last guy was right you took...
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July 4, 2015 |
in Poetry |
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0
for Nikki I met a descendant of Zebulon Pike (Pike’s Peak) in Santa Fe. She told me that she thought a blow job was when you went to the beauty salon to get your hair done¬, I...
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July 4, 2015 |
in Poetry |
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for Carry A. Nation (1846-1911) Oh, Carry Nation, she’s the one I love. Her kisses—man, what killers! Ax fits her fingers like a glove To chop down Satan’s pillars. ...
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Ana Flores is a sculptor and ecologist. Her work is informed by how pla
2 Poems
Let Me Straddle Your Mind
The Crusader
Yeah bring our electric shaver back, I bought it we shaved each others back
it was important to me
Kwame Dawes
1
Yes, we were country, lived in shotgun
shacks, where the road loses its way
to dirt and live 
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Courtesy of the artist and Mizuma Art Gallery
"Feminism is a socialist, anti-family, political movement that encourages women to lea
Junot' Diaz
and Edison, NJ
The first time we try to deliver the Gold Crown the lights are on in the house but no on
Elegy & Poem
"We are all the other."
…and find inside a picture,
of myself as a child, sitting
on a small chair, wearing overalls
an
Raphael Perez
To Alex, on turning two
Some say the Ring of Brogar
is the Circle of the Moon.
There is n
March on Washington
An Interview with Cheryl Evans
In a strange twist of what seemed
like reverse vandalism, the Graffiti
Mecca was painted over. 
Forest Gander
A Translation
Quassan Castro, poem
Grandson to Grandmother
Wynwood Walls, of Miami has been called "a Museum of the Streets."
Low like the mean dream
of Newark the sky must
have seemed to its builders.
Rickety now, unhingin
At last, the extremes
of his present methods
seemed to offer
the happiest avenues.
The strengthe
5th Limb
Poems
Poem, Knot
Poem, Look This Way
Xue Du, Poem
A woman in a black kimono dyed black hair
disappeared behind a black curtai
Poem:
Behind the War On Women
Maria Mizzotti-Gillan
Short Story
Pilar Fraile Amador
poem
Lady Haiti
David Trinidad
Landzy Theodore
Angelo Nikolopoulos
