by Joan Mazza The scent of a summer rain on hot asphalt takes me back to elementary school in Brooklyn, the short walk to the corner to PS 98 under a canopy of young maples. Odors of garlic and lemon on broiling chicken, bleach, and silver polish resurrect my mother, dead more than thirty years,
by Karen Neuberg Without malice, I’ve used my taxidermy skills to preserve ex lovers, keeping them intact, just as when we parted. Unlike me, they never age. Never go on, though surely they’ve gone on in their own lives. Little do they know I line them along light-filled windowsills beside the medicinal herbs. Sometimes I
by Victoria Twomey some things in life, like jazz and oysters, are best when eaten raw, while smiles and strawberries, will go with anything. some things in life, like hope and croissants, should always be kept warm, while sex and sauté pans, should really be preheated. some things in life, like joy and chocolate, delight
by Richard L. Matta A shot for me, a shot for you to feed your shooting flame. And here, your chance, crosscut shredder ribbons from these empties. The questions I never asked and the ones you never answered. They told me the ashes in urns are human but maybe not just yours. Scrapings off the
by Lenny DellaRocca Bad Apothecary. Gin Radish. The Amazing Space Ship. The Savior and His Painted Automatic Machine. Pete, Lyla & Grim. Syntax Dream. Canary Weather. Cult of Red. Organic Buffoon. Rusty Fred. Her Fine Rabbit. The Blame. The Stunning Goats. Bop Rain and Tin. Violet Anus. Sometimes the Patrol Goes Far Away Like a
by Joanne Grumet i. We courted in a world that is no more: the Gem Spa where we went for chocolate egg creams; Ratner’s Dairy Restaurant where they served us onion rolls for bread; the Second Avenue Deli No more readings by the Beats, Ginsburg gone, his howling; no more Fugs protesting the war in
by Carla M. Cherry tonight I walk without shoes moonlight, my guide grass tickling soles bathed in dew drops I sidestep dandelions they be weeds, but oh, those yellow blossoms these crickets enraptured by nightsong I follow their chirping tonight I walk without shoes no sirens in this rural refuge no glass shard sparkle on
by Ace Boggess [question asked by Savannah Dudley] My ex-wife didn’t like the taste of oily burnt asphalt boiled in the morning like a candle lit for prayer. My ex-wife— I want to say maybe that’s why we didn’t last, but there are other reasons we both store in suitcases labeled resentment. I gave her
by Laura Zaino Feed it well: think good thoughts, cultivate fortitude. Believe impossible things– before breakfast, after breakfast, whenever you’re awake. Stay wild, fuck often. When your ears ring listen to the tone fade out until the very last thread of vibration releases. Laura ZainoLaura Zaino is a lover of life, finding beauty even when
by Richard Levine Dear Reader, We must be changing, adapting or evolving in significant ways, in order to live with Covid confinement, the effects of a wooden cross being driven into the heart of American democracy, the zero-sum economy, the black & white ballistics of social justice and racial inequality, the sport of mass-shootings as