Thursday, July 29, 2010

flame Eaters

by Jesse Mitchell

When your eyes were turned away

When your black eyes were turned away


And looking far off

Is when you lost me,

Sightlessly lost me

In the thick darkness

The dark barely-here-shadows

And the wild sounds

Of wild things.

Lost in the places of fires

And slow trains and imaginary things

And unconquerable stains

Left by indistinguishable stings.

When your eyes were lost

And turned blankly away.

Dancing, ripped apart, dancing in margins

Over here away

On the edge of the blade



Sword swallowers

And flame eaters

And fire spitters…

The rail-splitters

The never liars

The green eyed


Beautiful souls

The nothing-to-no-one devils

The I-never-know-a-danger lunatics

The no sorrow, no regrets, never turning back maniacs

The wild noises

Of wild things

When you turned your eyes away

Is when you lost me

In the swirl and


And might

And muddle

Of low light.

Wednesday, July 28, 2010

blue eye

by Regina Green

a blue bird's egg, tiny. and empty.
my eye is like this- blue like this.

but filled with embryonic longings.
i think the last thought i may ever

think and it is of you. a crack appears,
the thick fluid of gestation mounts to

my defense. not yet, it cries. too late,
i cry. weary just then and a cat comes

to inspect, its tongue a reservoir. for
once i let the whole damn thing go.

Tuesday, July 27, 2010


by Tatjana Debeljacki

Lost in the grey loneliness.

Cognition intruder – rustling from the mind.
Unclear thread, passionate, cruel, is awaken.
The fruit is not conspiracy.
The lunatic, genius of silence!
Get closer to the unspoken.
The analysis of reason- slavery!
During walking, visible shame!
Exciting autonomy,
Opened door, the windows,
In the mist the stairways
Leading to heaven.
Paralyzed conscience,
Portable mirror.
In the plural against the fluency,
Conducting, behavior,

And admit the guilt.
The line connecting,
The road to the spacecraft.
We walk on by in dishonor.
Bronze woman,
Brass man!!!

On Religion

Those who love God/god will always love
Those who do not believe in God will never believe
Why are we inducing our insights on common people?
If you are intellectually fulfilled then it does not necessarily
Means that you should make fool of your intelligence.
Religion will never be dead and be dead.
What is not dead is spiritualism. We are bunch of spirits
Or soul and we are here for short periods of time.
This is our standard existence. If we follow moral, ethical, social
and humanistic principals. We will be blessed among ourselves.
There is no need to worry and doubt other’s intelligence, we
Are here and we will be here in one form or another.
The philosophy of life is not life of philosophy rather journey
towards sustainable peace and prosperity. Remember, the more
Differences you will create, the more difference you will have

to solve. We are the problems and we have the solutions.

by Santosh Kalwar

Monday, July 26, 2010

Waste of Time.

by Laura Whelton

You know there was a day once
That stood out from time

Curled hair and tanned legs
A staple of a youthful past

Time was cruel and marks like blood
Soak this skin

Sun like butter now
Thick and blinding

No longer the painted happiness
Which held a hopeful thought
No longer the empty glasses
Held by a friend

Today was long
Cradled the sleeplessness
Worn out fatigue and promised nothing

Was it all a waste of time?

38 years of an alcoholic brother.

by Laura Whelton

How easy to be the drunk

Eking out each day with coins

Shuffling towards another oblivion

With each waking stride.

How easy and forgotten

The long days of alcohol

Drank like a dying man with water

How easy the days

Spent doubled in pain

Vomiting nothing

But the pure torture

Of your condition.

How easy and sad

Begging at street corners

For the same coins

That last only a second

The endless walk

Of the drunk

As he staggers home

Night after lost night

Muttering dissatisfactory


To the sombre moon

Diluted by spent eyes

How easy

To wake and have a conviction

On how to spend your day

While we soldiers of discipline

Work like animals for survival.

How easy.

Sunday, July 25, 2010


and interview people about the homeless there,
but the government representatives kept telling me
they didn't have any homeless, even though I could see
them on the street. They said they weren't really homeless,
that they were drunks who fell asleep on the way home,
that there just isn't a problem. And then one of the papers
reported that a tram driver got sick of a homeless man
who kept riding without ever getting off and so when
the man was sleeping the driver pulled over, took out
some gasoline, and lit the homeless man on fire.
I went to ask them about that, but they wouldn't
return any of my calls.

by Ron Ahimsa Riekki

Saturday, July 24, 2010

A Real Man

by Suchoon Mo

a real man
writes poetry
plays flute
and he masturbates
upon mountain top

Country Fair Weekend

by Nicole Taylor

I drank beer with strangers, coffees downtown, teas with Mary, Mike's hard liquor with strangers and neighbors. At camp I bought a corduroy hat and sodalite earrings. At camp I watched drummers, musicians and a fire show with nude dancers. Later I watched another fire show from a great band, a fun pantomime and large chess board. At camp I ate Baklava and noodles. I also ate granola and a sub, a muffin on the ride home.

Thursday, July 22, 2010


by Stephen Jarrell Williams

Middle of night music
soft in shadows
remembering you

breathing in my ear
wanting more

and I giving you more

and now

we wonder what we did wrong

no tears
only a sadness
still penetrating a sigh
lasting for years.


by Lyn Lifshin

I was a ballet dancer,
then I got divorced.
I tried to be a
secretary but
learned that tho
I’m healthy
I couldn’t get
any job.‭ ‬I fill
my car with things
that don’t let‭
you know there’s
a person in there,
a lot of bags and boxes
and I cover myself
with newspaper
and hunker down

Wednesday, July 21, 2010

boston girl, well, I am chinese firecracker lame

by kenneth mulvey

don’t go you fuck

don’t you dare

but it’s a busted

taillight drive

for a broken door handled

barroom and

a ponytailed joke

bowing, ejaculating

yessir yessir

alla the time

every time you look

at him,

asleep rumbling

throat after he

kicks you out

in a cold front

lawn till

the blistered moon

threatens the

mystics dreaded and


so I spend my



into pieless windows,

wives shrugging their

pale shoulders at

empty tables,

husbands busy rubbing

one out in

hot showers

so they don’t

fuck this up,

whilst me down on

1st street

with bustop bums meagre

cuz the women stay


with methamphetamine

sores volcano naked

all the praised day,

where somebody stole my

empty wallet,

acting out the futile

show yet

we still are all


no, I don’t ask for

it all back since

the emaciated

boy .22’s bunny rabbits

howling like babies

on a cyanide trip

and that’s enough,

I think,

until the midafternoon

pederasting fat russian elite

rape bloody violent

shouting 12 year old girls

between the 14th

and 12th floors,

behind unseen windows

upon papercut carpet,

police guard says

you better leave

buddy boy,

I whip up the

chaise into

crazy motion,


the jealous road

sniffing his own usefulness,

stride dejected

head down and

bent enough for to

load confidence

upon her freckled eyelids

enough to fold

her desolation knees,

it will be easy, this,

the army boys are out

of town

and she’ll forgive,

she’ll need somebody,

she’ll drop her synthetic nuclear vest

in the presence

of an evolutionarily doctored cock

and take me back

Tuesday, July 20, 2010

Tense Darkness

by Farida Samerkhanova

I am waiting for you in the middle of the night

And there comes a moment when

My body turns boneless and indifferent

Like a soft cotton pad

Every cell of my brain is plugged with disappointment and fatigue

I stop distinguishing between the sounds around me

The drops of rain jingling against the unfriendly surface of the roof

Your tires whispering something to the wet pavement

A distant neighbour’s garbage bin being dragged along the driveway

Your cautious steps on the telltale creaking kitchen floor

The irritating ticking of the clock on the bedroom wall

And my own miserable heart beating

Monday, July 19, 2010


by Lyn Lifshin

the blackness
rising to the surface
oozing up to
the surface, slick
oozing in the back
yards. “No trespassing
Danger” signs. Oily
muck in the street.
“If they stay
they’re signing
their own death
warrant” on a sign
near a house
Candidates come
here days before
the election
to shake hands


it’s like a ghost
town, houses boarded
up. I’m afraid if
I leave the house
they’ll loot or burn
it. I have a child
with birth defects
of heart, pancreas.
Kidney. Chloroform
was so high it
wouldn’t be allowed
in any work place.
I was pregnant.
The state told me
nothing wasn’t

*Lyn's website:

Sunday, July 18, 2010

Coastlines of My Dreams

by Jake David

The shadowy past,
vague. Vast. Lone as the walls
a barren mind resembling
ungripped realities
like the coastlines of my dreams,
laying secretly within hidden pages.
brushing naked against the burgundy sky
underneath a Halloween moon
during a saxophone wind,
the ghost of a yesterdaynight's kiss.
I remember on the coast lines of my dreams
with eyes like the seven seas after Earth's climax.

Saturday, July 17, 2010

The Grandest Gestures

by David Tomaloff

I have been
to your cities

and seen
the Ducks

hiding coyly
among the lions
and thieves;

all huddled

at once



and Shoes,

and Stuff(!);




w aiting



Thursday, July 15, 2010


by Stephanie Wytovich

The phone refuses to ring
I wonder if it’s broken
Or was quietly murdered
During the dead of night

It taunts me
Stares at me
Its numerical patterns
Circularly counting repetitively
Around the clock
While it ticks away seconds
And tocks away minutes
Relentlessly stealing hours from me
From my day
The carpet itches my thighs
And my nails dig into my arms
A nervous twitch
That draws blood
I try to distract myself
My spinning head is to full
To think otherwise

You’re probably busy
Wrapping yourself around her legs
Your tongue down her throat
Panting to the rhythm of her movements
Dancing in the crevices inside her
Or screaming to the beat of your heart

You’re probably occupied
Talking to your friends
Telling them about your night
You spent in a drunken stupor
Drowning in whiskey
Swimming in beer
Yelling at family

You’re probably lying
Telling them you’re in love
After you beat me in your room
Left me stained with tears
Dried blood on my lips
As you passed out in your bed
And I drove home
And broken.

You’re probably living your life
Going about your day
Like nothing is wrong
While I’m left
Sitting by the phone
For you to call,
Because I know if I leave
You’ll find me,
And I’ll be worse off
Then laying on this itchy carpet
In your run down apartment.

I’ll be dead.

Wednesday, July 14, 2010


by Lyn Lifshin

There is nothing to eat.

We are going to die of hunger.

My teeth ache,

my left leg is frostbitten.

I almost finished the honey.

What have I done?

How selfish I am!

What are they going to say?

What will they

spread on their bread now?

Mother looks terrible–

a shadow of herself.

She works very hard.

Whenever I wake up

at twelve or one in the night

she is bent

over the sewing machine,

and she gets up at six.

I have no heart, no pity,

eat everything

I can lay my hands on.

Today I had an argument

with Father.

I insulted and even cursed him.

And this was because yesterday

I weighed the noodles

but this morning took

a spoonful for myself.

When father came back

he weighed them,

found there was less,

started yelling at me.

He was right, but I was

upset and cursed him.

Father just stood

at the window

and cried like a child.

No stranger ever

abused him like I did.

Everybody was home

I went to bed quickly

I thought I would die of hunger

Tuesday, July 13, 2010

Let Us Play

by Santosh Kalwar

Dear Women,
come out and let us play,
reveal your secret and let’s swim
In a river of your pain
with enthusiasm and excitement

Let us swing with the melodies of birds
and let us be passionate
over our love

I know you are bothered,
by the mindless cults
The pursuit of your happiness

Lies beneath this earth
so, let us play
beautiful women

Monday, July 12, 2010


by Joel Solonche

It’s probably only me,
but George sure as hell
looks more like an NYPD
mounted cop about to club
an anti-war demonstrator
than anything else.

Sunday, July 11, 2010

Searching for the anchor

by Daniel Ames

green eyes and brown hair remind me of Alabama
when a long sheet of rain took the pain from her forehead
and assuaged the cankles by the cactus of doom

God is on the run and the apostles have nowhere to go
maybe Tuscaloosa but the coyotes drink hard there
and the prostitutes rape the johns using poker chips

conflagrations sound like nuclear submarines on the beach
and the conch shells spread the gossip of Christ
the Lord helps those who are hapless at the free throw line

Friday, July 9, 2010

Morning Breeze

by Santosh Kalwar

I am like a tree
with so many branches
and leaves.

One branch of me
is purely an academic
and other is poetry.

rest of the branches
is very personal
and I don’t know
what personal really means.

born naked and
will die naked.
nakedness of sky
as I see it.

The brilliant moon
and entire universe
are all what I see,
when I see,
a dying person
growing in me.

As I climb
the hills
and the mountains
I find wisdom
is blowing
Just blowing
like a fresh
morning, breeze..

Thursday, July 8, 2010


by Demeter Race

The trace of his fingertips

On my belly


Of the troposphere

In that

High place


Off his tongue


Eyes closed

32 feet

Per second squared


Reaching ground.