Objects in the Fairfield Inn Lobby Currently Nudging Me Into Psychosis  drum lampshades in barely varying shades of taupe porcelain asterisk accessory (bludgeoning weight) menu for an 80s-themed pizza joint where absolutely zero items have pun names thermostat in a locked case, case only partially screwed to wall map to a local weather museum endorsed… Read More Objects in the Fairfield Inn Lobby Currently Nudging Me Into Psychosis ~ poetry by Erica Reid

Haircuts after “Beneath the Layers” (below) ~ Kurt Reynolds Lined up, wiped clean, eldest to the baby, sons are screwed to a gilded frame. Ferrules are paint-caked, brushing scenes of horror on shot-pocked alley walls. Abstract, outlines of girl’s breasts— no girls left, but brothers are bristle brushes with a taste for mannequin. Fiberglass flesh… Read More Haircuts ~ poetry by Robert Carr

P.H. Coleman looks out a window full of forest and its denizens, dogs and people, and writes. With help from  Sze, Harjo, Pardlo, Jackson, Duhamel (whether they knew it or not), he’s appeared in Eunoia Review, Trouvaille Review, Quail Bell Magazine, Dillydoun Review, The Ekphrastic Review, Dodging the Rain, Hyacinth Review, Ink In Thirds, etc.

Victoria Nordlund is the Poet Laureate of Glastonbury, CT, and lead master teaching artist of The Nook Farm Writers Collaborative at The Mark Twain House & Museum. Her poetry collections Wine-Dark Sea and Binge Watching Winter on Mute are published by Main Street Rag. She is a Best of the Net and Pushcart Prize Nominee,… Read More While looking at the Hermann Grid Illusion ~ poetry by Victoria Nordlund

To Do List Take on the load of the burdened. Picture cutting the baby’s cord with your teeth & cremate the fetus in your eyeballs for the rest of the ultrasound examination. Observe the next woman’s follicles (after separating ovaries from bowel) & figure out why her (breast) ducts are dilated with no baby in… Read More To Do List ~ poetry by Kataru Yahya

Manon After Alexander Agadzhanov, Marianela Nuñez & Federico Bonelli Not too far. Yes slowly, yeah. LIFT. A little bit late. AWAY more! Come closer close— Go go go go— That’s enough, enough. Bourrée bourrée bourréebourréebourrée… HOLD it. That’s enough, enough—come back to him. HOOOLD. That’s right. Okay, okay. Not—you okay? Not bad at all. Just… Read More Manon ~ poetry by Ellie Snyder

Daltokki’s Time-Lapse of a Noni [00:00:00] With enough work, I pass for beautiful. In the mirror, my talced face mouths: —Daltokki: Aren’t most girls plain to start? Her paws dusted white, still grinding—more, never stopping. [03:00:00] At the mall kiosk, a woman hands me a glossy flyer: BEFORE / AFTER, jawlines sharpened into crescents. Tape… Read More Daltokki’s Time-Lapse of a Noni ~ poetry by Kimmy Chang

Burn Nitro Say prayers Say vitamins Eat, eat, eat These are the demandments, brother. Terry Bollea lied and we let him back into our hearts. The New World Order is for life, brother, repeated like a mantra every Monday night. But he changed costumes, and we suspended every ounce of disbelief, so the entirety of… Read More Three Poems ~ poetry by Chris Dolan

Marlowe’s guayabera sticks to his skin like ocean salt, toes peeking over the edge of a kidney bean dredged in soft cyan. He hates the valley. Tells me it’s a man-made lake of pure beige stocked with confidence men and carnal women. Some ruby-headed cutie with curves like a candy cane queries the crowd for… Read More philip marlowe is invited to a beginners improv graduation party in van nuys ~ prose poem by Ben Starr

Sun Box after Joseph Cornell’s “Suzy’s Sun”  In the beginning on a bench beside a river, currents like moissanite facets jumping crests, we were two old souls that only the sun could know, hot blazing pillars of photons through water vapor and dust illuminating us like a spotlight— not white godspot, but a free-range egg… Read More Sun Box ~ poetry by Kristen Keckler

In the Southwest in Mid-September (a Nuit Blanche poem, after Amy Lowell’s “Nuit Blanche”) The chirping of crickets in the night is not found in the desert. Two hours from Albuquerque, not much is. In Socorro, I stop to get gas, lunch, and a room for later that night. Then I head out, driving dusty… Read More In the Southwest in Mid-September ~ poetry by Mary Christine Delea

There Are No Wild Dogs In Brooklyn Heights A skyline of wonders with a phantasmal attraction. The soapy comfort of store-bought flowers. Too pink, too sweet. Fragments in the sky on a day you’re brazen enough to look up. And they’re running. Just like you. Waiting to be shot down. Head back to Ainslie Avenue.… Read More There Are No Wild Dogs In Brooklyn Heights ~ poetry by Tessa McHattie

Burning Chocolat Mademoiselle likes her brioche with crème fraîche, Maupassant and a tasse de chocolat. I like her way of nonchalantly feigning I do not exist. Makes me feel like Camus smoking a Gauloises and struggling to pen the Myth of Sisyphus. She tells me all one needs is love but un peu de chocolat… Read More Burning Chocolat ~ poetry by Salvatore Difalco

Eternal Frat Boys So, this is who you’d rather spend time with? Does their obnoxious behavior compensate for my shyness? Does you saying you’re not like them, explicate your blindness? Or, are you just really that numb to my kindness? So much so, that these new friends are (not men, but) Eternal Frat Boys who… Read More Eternal Frat Boys ~ poetry by Jenna Mabus

Look at This Two wild pears from a tree near the train tracks, on a windowsill facing ten p.m. neighborhood backyards. Each would fit in one palm. Almost everything else lies on one table. A round pill box, brewpub restaurant coaster pasted to the lid, blue behind a red heart. My wife’s glasses: black bows,… Read More Look at This ~ poetry by David P. Miller

The 101 Uses of a Cravat The “Before” picture of a necktie. A bandage to staunch the blood. If it’s black, an armband for mourning. If it’s red, an armband for war. To welcome the spirit of Edgar Allan Poe to inhabit your body as his host. A lobster bib. A tourniquet. To appear epicurean… Read More The 101 Uses of a Cravat ~ poetry by E.R. Davis