Dangerous / to let the sharks of worry swim away / after dismissing them into the open ocean
Manless I dance; my shadow follows me. / I can shift its weight, whirl with indifference.
Before I toast you with Here’s / to the Buddhist who never judges, / I’ll tell a joke about a black marble / statue of Lenin everybody thinks / is you.
by Kelly KonyaWhen he speaks of mindfulness and writes it off— / prayer is better suited but for what?— / I can tell he believes it, fathoms it clearly.
We discovered the joy of Roy White’s poetry at our sister magazine, The Lascaux Review, where his piece “Improv” snatched the air from our lungs.
Until you perceive the extreme loneliness of flannel, / And rub your hands on the paint smacked brick walls
by RC deWinteryour mother’s gardenias still bloom / on the blue porch with the faded bench
The brains sat in the circle, surrounded by string. I can’t tell you what they were thinking, being one of them.
by Mark Fitzpatrickspike-heels scuffed from the journey through night, / sway down the bitterness of this street
by Brendan CooneyFinding dusk / and crepuscule wanting, / Shakespeare came up with gloaming.
Beside the red barn / at an intersection / between today and tomorrow, / a man from Alabama plays the banjo on his knee
A matte black Maserati penetrates East Baltimore / Luke Skywalker Death Star-style, / bombed-out rowhouses speed-blurred / on either side of a cratered street.
The Dutch settlers now are / largely forgotten. The Van Burens / and Roosevelts seem almost / quaint,
Amy has a seizure right / there in the classroom, / dropping to the floor, / writhing like a fish on land.