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January 4, 2014 |
in Poetry |
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One after another, westward we drive “love”—this fashionable car. Its bumper cuts through cheers and catcalls Love cuts open our bodies. We live in a strange country Love...
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January 3, 2014 |
in Poetry |
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Who came to stop the two men for they must have stopped nights ago on an uptown sidewalk knot of flesh center of a gawking crowd One flung his body on the other ...
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December 3, 2013 |
in Poetry |
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Behind the war on women Who does not control her own body? A slave. Aging white men addicted to power cannot stand girls and women choosing for themselves. They dream of bringing back...
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December 3, 2013 |
in Poetry |
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…and find inside a picture, of myself as a child, sitting on a small chair, wearing overalls and shoes that must have been hand-me-downs because they are so worn the sole is coming loose....
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December 1, 2013 |
in Poetry |
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When it’s yourself who’s looking and looked at— a myopic knowing in the morning, sleep-struck and shocked— this is my face! Unshareable, one-of-a-kind blandness....
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November 30, 2013 |
in Poetry |
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A woman in a black kimono dyed black hair disappeared behind a black curtain I’d decided to give a poetry reading in drag A feather boa many...
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November 29, 2013 |
in Poetry |
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Grandmother, You sit, Wrapped in your Persian melon-colored blanket, Rock back and forth, On that old rusty country porch, Whom the neighbors across the street Once called, Rusty Oak. Spit...
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November 28, 2013 |
in Poetry |
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Lady Haiti, sister of all black nations, bold Mother of my ancestors ascendant acoustic homeland, I hear you. Your sonorous voice sounds like the homemade goat skin Bata drum beating in...
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November 27, 2013 |
in Poetry |
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Hilda and her children are crammed into our front room. $8 a month holds her whole life in it. When her husband showed up blind, his whole family threw her out. They had always known...
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November 22, 2013 |
in Creative Nonfiction & Memoir |
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When you are young, you believe in things because you have no reason not to: a fat jolly man riding reindeers across the sky. Sure. A bunny that lays eggs in a basket. Why not? And when...
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November 22, 2013 |
in Poetry |
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At last, the extremes of his present methods seemed to offer the happiest avenues. The strengthening of even a single cell might become as much as new knowledge where ratty camouflage is...
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November 21, 2013 |
in Poetry |
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We hold intractable notions of ourselves as agents with free will. But someone is what he is and was what he was and will be what he will be, once and forever. Even with time travel,...
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November 20, 2013 |
in Poetry |
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On nights like this, the road bends into blackness and the white lines paved into the tar look like slivers of bone, and the air whistles through the open window, and the trees rustle their...
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November 20, 2013 |
in Poetry |
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After the long sigh of the violins wound you beyond repair your last plink disturbs the silence, and a cat in another dimension’s driveway will look up from under the warm space of a...
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October 11, 2013 |
in Art & Photography |
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In a strange twist of what seemed like reverse vandalism, the Graffiti Mecca or 5 Pointz, NY, was painted over with white paint in the middle of the night. (This occurred in November;...
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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 
[new_royalslider id="11"]
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
