Painting Party at an Indian Buffet I am scumbling a cataract waterfall with underhanded oils, ad-libbing the lilac current and dysmorphic October Glory maple trees. Feeling prolific and pioneering, I fashion a festooned mermaid headlining shamrock curls, gaudy beneath the lioness sun atop an out-of-tune libertine boulder garden. The pedestrian instructor clears her throat stormily,… Read More Painting Party at an Indian Buffet ~ poetry by Megan Denese Mealor

Joshua St. Claire is a CPA who works as a financial controller in Pennsylvania. He enjoys writing poetry on coffee breaks and after putting the kids to bed. His work is published or forthcoming in Delmarva Review, Inflectionist Review, Blue Unicorn, ubu., and bones, among others, and has received nominations for the Pushcart. Show Joshua… Read More Catachresis ~ poetry by Joshua St. Claire

  Megan Riddell is a central-Florida-based poet, family law paralegal, and mother to her daughter, Violet. Megan is also a soon-to-be graduate of the University of Central Florida, with her Master of Fine Arts in creative writing, specializing in poetry and creative non-fiction, in May 2022. Some of her poems have been featured in the… Read More Stalemate ~ poetry by Megan Riddell

toward the end we sit together in the darkness The heavy curtains drawn, the sun a wash like clorox on the screen boxed in the console. I sip a cabernet, the way my mother used to do to accompany the hours of the Zenith. My father with the don’t-touch-the-remote at his elbow. The cuff, the… Read More Two Poems ~ poetry by Kathleen Hellen

Pilate’s Dream Pilate, at bliss with his lead hypnosis, through it, a hazy trip in the desert, in his mind, a mirage where a ghost of myrrh speaks in languages, in rituals, “goodbye to earth,” wasting time with bliss, a vision he does not like, no more pantheon, a golden triangle Pilate, sour, mindful of… Read More Two poems ~ poetry by Ben Nardolilli

Imbongi, praise singer, passions’ planter, ancestors’ defender, Reciter of penetrating poetry (divulging familial interactions), Reteller of histories, commentator on community affairs, she Dares pronounce the ineffable. During ceremonial activities, or else thru “important” episodes, Outrageous statements, critical rhetoric, and indelicate remarks, That gnarled woman remains protected by champions, dreaded, Revered as her revelations. Ancient wisdom… Read More Griot ~ poetry by KJ Hannah Greenberg

[in]transpiring: a psychosomatic [re-]glitch[ing] Ami J. Sanghvi (he/they) is a non-binary, Indian-American, queer author, artist, designer, boxer, Eric Hoffer Book Award finalist, and recent graduate from the California Institute of the Arts Creative Writing M.F.A. program (concentration: image/text). He is a fiction editor for Decolonial Passage, poetry editor for Wrongdoing Magazine, staff writer for Chaotic Merge, and photographer for AsianZine, as… Read More [in]transpiring: a psychosomatic [re-]glitch[ing] ~ graphic poetry by Ami J. Sanghvi

Perhaps I should soften like April light on the hardy plants  that is my attempt at creating a metaphor out of my dad  and I can do better than that but poets are sometimes arseholes.  Perhaps I should learn from the condensation in a bouquet  and understand that cut down carnations in their prime have… Read More My dad wants to meet for coffee again ~ poetry by Antony Owen

don’t go in the horse ring too soon the horse might kick you                    or step on you if a horse’s foot is stepped on by a boy that’s something          about God a first sexual mistake e.g. or a too-hard yank on a… Read More *cotton candy* ~ poetry by Jamie Spenser

Prey No air in the cafe and my Coke melting quick and that guy staring hot from behind and to my right, reminding me of the campground with friends, the day hot and moonlight barely cooler, me full of Yukon Jack, walking alone back from the bathroom, not drunk enough for squatting in shrubs, hoping… Read More Three Poems ~ poetry by Kerry Trautman

There is clear jelly agar oozing from me after the sex, which I try to mop up with socks from my backpack A guy in his late 60s (early 70s?) and his wife The super-old hot guy comes in on his way to the en-suite, says to me: My wife asked me to tell you… Read More Sex Dream ~ poetry by Syreeta Muir

Thlok when drunk.Thlok for deer.Thlok for you to fail.Thlok when you can’t thlok.Thlok chips on the poker table. Thlok your name being called. Thlok falls down.Thlok shut up.Thlok talk about their children.Thlok hard work. Thlok jolt a finger. Thlok beer poured into a glass. Thlok guitar pedal. Thlok your partner. Thlok caw.Thlok you have no interest in. Thlok two packs a day. Thlok typing with mitts. Thlok silent manner.Thlok urinate. Thlok wind machine. Thlok monster. Thlok opinion without listening. Thlok fast asleep. Thlok two big sticks.  Thlok fish swims away. Thlok across the street.Thlok thawing snow in spring.Thlok thoughts during sex.Thlok man mansplaining thlok.… Read More Thlok ~ poetry by James Croal Jackson

Nonideological dialect contains dreams, habits, intuition, moreoverThe construction of private/public meaning; few nonexperts embrace Make-believe’s robustness derived from lexes’ haunting resonances. Consequently, meditation of integrity’s assembly arguments intimate  Human interactions in the categorizing of heuristics, gets sacrificedWhile reifying virtuous agreement arrays, equally apples’ acridness. Popular, western epistemic fact/value divisions, suggest exclusivity Versus aesthetics/ techniques, not disparate from conflict literature,(Can’t always contribute solutions or patch up spider-free bananas.) Compared with nontraditional ingredients, forms… Read More The Fruitfulness of Communication’s Moral Component ~ poetry by KJ Hannah Greenberg

Skimming Sideways When you reach that magic agewhen no player picks the magnesium trickfrom your sandwich, you’re wont toexhale red notches, the kind mountaingoats rejuvenate when they wash up inForge Village.  Disgruntled cherry pickers, notwithstanding,if you have never smoked a dobro guitar, ordwelt in the doldrums of twin religions,Go ahead and cancel your contract, they’ll… Read More Three poems ~ poetry by Frank William Finney

Around a felt-top table in Al’s faux-walnut-paneled breezeway, a small group in northwest Iowa — farmers, bookkeepers, stay-at-home moms — gathers for a game of Texas Hold ‘em.  Though Bicycles are dealt to each player, it’s the booze and the tobacco, a little weed and a little speed that are the true calling cards. priorities… Read More Game Night ~ poetry by Julie Allyn Johnson

Letter to Bernadette Mayer March 13th, 2020 I’m drunk and in the dream of how things get written. Not eating   running at least three miles a day, water and some good rye from out east of Salt Lake  tides me over. I have been fostering this idea where I send you some money soon… Read More Letter to Bernadette Mayer ~ poetry by Andrew Romanelli