by Linda Wimberly i want to drink to get drunk sit on the floor get stoned talk existentialism maybe transcendental meditation i want to pick up a stranger who sits at the bar not be afraid to show my body wake in a strange bed naked spent i want to fill the holes left by
by Gerald Wagoner When New York City initiated shelter-in-place, mid-March of 2020, to maintain my physical and mental health I continued my nightly walks. I would leave my Carroll Gardens home around 10 pm and walk to Brooklyn Heights, or to Pier 6 in Brooklyn Bridge Park, or up to Prospect Park. The only other
by DS Maolalai drunk and frustrated in the kitchen at the kitchen table, explaining the rules of the card-game to my best friend’s quite lovely new girlfriend. making eye contact with chrysty and frowning, as if common sense knew how to play. perhaps a judgement with an element of unfairness – no, certainly that’s what
by Ben Nardolilli Travel brings out strange combinations for the sake of space, all improvised, my oxblood loafers sit on top of t-shirts, rolled up socks sit inside my boxer briefs, and toiletries are nestled in breast pockets. I have worn each of these items down until they became personal talismans for me, mass manufactured
by Lauren Scharhag i. We were nine, and it was the age of MASH and paper fortune tellers. Choose a color. Choose a number. Close your eyes. I will draw a spiral until you say stop. We unpopular girls sat together in the lunchroom, huddled like birds on an electrical wire, all part of the
by Millicent Accardi We amuse ourselves through the absurd March forest, comical and childish, dupes in this quarantine of looking for breadcrumbs, a pathway out. Set aside on a fool’s errand, seven times funny and infantile, the dance of the woods creating stockpiles of leaves, like court hesitators we wash tree bark And dance together,
by Peggy Landsman Now, well past the Orwellian year, I remember how slowly I walked that final week of ’83, Mulling things over, counting days down… Worrying where my long brown hair had grown to, Remembering when it tickled my ears and everything I heard was new. When it hit my shoulders, Vietnam and Johnson
By Christopher Clauss There is a lifelong benefit to action hero fantasies and the crash of toy cars, the larger than life scenarios, the sound effects uttered thoughtlessly by young boys at play lost in the fantasy of adventure, sounding almost nothing like the real thing. We are grown now, aware of the listening ears